


The Screaming Echoes of Your Past

by dark_def (dedicatedfollower467)



Series: Smells Like Belonging [5]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternian Society, Angst, Background Rose Lalonde/Kanaya Maryam - Freeform, Complex Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - C-PTSD, Crying, Eventual Smut, Families of Choice, Flashbacks, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Mating Bond, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Menstruation, Meteorstuck, Minor Rose Lalonde/Dave Strider, Non-Quadrant Karkat, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Second Person, Pack Bonding, Pack Dynamics, Panic Attacks, Past Abuse, Past Child Abuse, Past Incest, Past Rape/Non-con, Past Sexual Abuse, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Quadrant Confusion, Quadrant Vacillation, Rape Recovery, Scent Marking, Slow Burn, Suicidal Thoughts, Tags May Change, Touch-Starved, Victim Blaming, Vomit Mention, also bro's dead but i feel like i had to tag for him, because past bro/dave is so integral to the plot of this, okay yes it's another meteorstuck davekat fic BUT there's an abo twist!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-03
Updated: 2021-01-06
Packaged: 2021-02-28 05:07:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 20
Words: 42,984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22538290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dedicatedfollower467/pseuds/dark_def
Summary: Dave can definitely survive three years on this rock with no one but his sister and a pack of aliens. Even if those aliens don't have Alphas and Omegas and don't smell like anything at all. It's cool. Dave's cool. He can do this. It's only three years. He's sure he can get through a few heats alone.There might just be one little snag with that - y'see, he's still bonded to a dead man.
Relationships: Dave Strider/Karkat Vantas, Past Dave's Bro | Beta Dirk Strider/Dave Strider, Rose Lalonde & Dave Strider, Terezi Pyrope & Dave Strider
Series: Smells Like Belonging [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1592716
Comments: 352
Kudos: 524





	1. Scentless

**Author's Note:**

> Heeeeello everybody! Welcome to Act Two!
> 
> This is one of a few fics that are going to make up the bulk of Act Two. Like I mentioned in the end notes of the last fic, each fic will be placed in chronological order on AO3, but the times in which individual fics are posted will be slightly less chronological. Fic updates will (maybe? probably?) slow down a little bit, as this middle section is sort of the murkiest part of the series, plot-wise, although it's also the part I have the most snippets and little ideas for!
> 
> There will definitely be both masturbation and sex in this fic. The characters are all their canon ages, which is why this fic is tagged "Underage" (all of the actual explicit PWP sex occurs when they're 15-16, though).
> 
> I really hope you enjoy this fic! It's gonna be an emotional roller coaster. We're gonna range _aaaaall_ over the place in terms of tone and content. The tags might end up changing the further I get into this story. Caveat lector!
> 
> The title of this fic comes from the song "The Fate of a Coward" by Days N' Daze.

You weren’t expecting the trolls to be like this. You don’t know what you were expecting, exactly, but it wasn’t this, and it’s kinda throwing you off your game.

For one thing, their movements are slower and more fluid than you would have thought. When you picture alien bug people, you tend to think of the jerky, rapid scuttle of spiders, or the twitchy way that ants march. And when you weren’t actively thinking to yourself “bug people” you kinda just imagined them moving the same way humans do.

They don’t, but they don’t move like bugs, either. Like, for the most part, sure, they look human-ish in the way they walk and stuff, but they’re very… honestly _fluid_ is still the best word you can come up with. Like each limb is a swirl of liquid winding its way into the next position. Yeah, they obviously still have _joints_ but when you see one of them walking out of the corner of your eye, you could almost mistake them for noodle-limbed cartoon characters.

For another, their scents are super weird. Part of you was expecting them to smell like Betas - sharp, neutral, and natural, like spices and plants and earthy things. Or maybe more like children, with that mild, barely-there, milky scent. But trolls don’t smell like either of those.

They don’t smell like _anything_ , and it’s kind of driving you nuts.

You’ve been living with them for a week, and you still can’t tell _any_ of the trolls apart by their scents. To your nose, they smell basically identical. If they can even be said to have any scent at all, because at best they smell like water. Or plastic. Or something else that gives off basically no scent, like fresh mountain air or precious stones or uncooked rice or something. The fucking _rug_ in the little common room space Rose and Kanaya set up has a more distinctive smell than any of the trolls do.

It makes the meteor smell uninhabited, abandoned, condemned, and contributes a lot to the creepy-ass vibe it’s got going on. You walk down enormous empty hallways with dozens of dark doorways of uncertain destination, smelling of nothing but stagnant air and perhaps the faintest traces of Rose’s floral scent. The sound of your footsteps and breathing echo off of the bare concrete walls, and you feel like a character in the kind of B-rated slasher movie where everyone gets brutally murdered by the end.

(In a horror movie like that, you’d be among the first to die, because you’re a little Omega slut, and the first two people to die in any horror movie are the black guy and the slut. Hell, you’re even a natural blonde.)

So you think you’re justified in yelping and jumping half a foot in the air, sword leaping into your hand like startled kangaroo, when Karkat unexpectedly marches out of one of those cavernous doorways.

He freezes and you freeze, too, your sword pointed at his chest. His yellow eyes grow wide, bigger than you think a human’s would be able to, practically popping out of his face. You’re both breathing hard, and your harsh pants echo down the hallway.

“What the fuck, Strider?” he says, loudly. Every word Karkat says is said loudly. You were kind of surprised that his ALL CAPS LOCK typing style was not in the least bit an exaggeration. Honestly, Karkat does everything loudly, from talking to reading to walking.

Which is why you’re surprised he got the drop on you.

“For fuck’s sake, either run me through or point the fucking sword somewhere else,” he snarls.

Slightly embarrassed, you captchalogue your sword again, taking a step back. “How the hell can you be so quiet, dude?” you say. “The last guy who managed to sneak up on me like that was my Bro.”

Except that even under bad circumstances, you could normally smell Bro coming. You couldn’t always necessarily tell which direction his scent came from and you _definitely_ couldn’t predict when he was going to strike, but you usually knew that there was a chance it would happen.

But Karkat doesn’t have a scent at all.

“Contrary to popular belief, I am actually capable of shutting the fuck up on occasion,” he says. “Unlike some people I could name.” He looks pointedly at you.

“I can be quiet, I’m a fucking stealth master,” you say. “Seriously, I can be more silent than a panther with slippers on, that’s how quiet I can be.”

“Then why don’t you go ahead and _demonstrate_ a little of that oh-so-incredible silence and leave me in fucking _peace_?” he says, and starts walking down the hallway, away from the common room, the same direction you were headed.

“Nah,” you say, shoving your hands in your pockets and following after him, letting the rubber soles of your converse slap against the concrete floor with every step.

“Oh my god, Strider, fuck off,” Karkat says. “Why are you even following me?”

“Because it’s fun to mess with you and I’m bored,” you say, honestly. “You’re like a balloon filled until it’s bursting. One little poke and you explode out everywhere and it’s kinda entertaining to watch.”

Karkat _growls_.

He actually fucking _growls_ at you, in that bone-shattering Alpha way that says _‘back the fuck off or I’ll make you, asshole.’_ That sound is a warning, letting you know that the Alpha in question _will_ back that threat up with teeth and fists if they have to. It sounds like every gruff embittered Alpha male anti-hero from every gritty action thriller from the past ten years.

It sounds like your Bro.

You flinch, and try to hide it, as Karkat rounds on you, still growling. You mask your instinctive fear reaction with cool nonchalance, stand your ground. It’s just _Karkat_. You seriously doubt the guy could manage to hurt a concussed dodo bird, let alone a highly trained warrior like you. Besides, he's not even actually an Alpha.

“I said _fuck off_ ,” Karkat says, the growl still rumbling through his words, “Why do you have to be such an insufferable goddamn prick all the fucking time? Is it really too much to fucking ask that I get a little fucking alone time on a meteor the size of a goddamn city? Is it really too much to ask that I be spared the inscrutable mumblings of a dumbass fucking “cool kid” who hides behind his stupid shades literally one hundred percent of the time? Is it _really_ , Dave?” He actually makes the little finger-quotes motion when he says “cool kid.”

God, his rants are fucking hilarious. Even growling the way he is right now, he just sounds kind of ridiculous. Once again his weird yellow eyes are bugging out, except that this time instead of terrified he looks like he’s having an apoplexy, and you kinda want to see if you can manage to make him angry enough that they actually pop right out of their sockets.

“Where the hell are you even going, anyway, dude? You’re super far from the common room,” you say.

“No fucking shit, Dave! You don’t think that maybe I’m trying to get a little fucking _quiet time_ , like I literally _just_ told you I was doing, by getting the fuck _away_ from people? I’m trying to find a corridor that hasn’t yet been overtaken by fucking spiderbitches or murderous clowns, and lucky me, as soon as I seem to have found one, _I run smack into you!”_ He throws his hands up dramatically. “You know what? No, this is just my luck, this is exactly how shitty my luck is, sure, come the fuck on, follow me, maybe if I cave and accept this, nothing _else_ incredibly fucking idiotic will happen while I’m wandering through the depths of an abandoned meteor in the middle of the fucking day.”

With that, he turns and marches away, stomping his little feet.

Agreeing to let you come along kinda takes the fun out of following him, but you figure if you do you can probably find something else to needle him about.

You don’t really know why you find Karkat so much fun to mess with. You guess it’s mostly that it’s sort of novel to see how incredibly expressive he is about his feelings. Granted, those feelings are confined entirely to irritation, frustration, grumpiness, anger, and rage, but he’s always _showing_ them on his face. It’s just… so different from what you’re used to.

Karkat feels… safe.

Which is bullshit, because _safe_ is supposed to be your pack, and Karkat isn’t your pack. Without scent glands, he isn’t even biologically capable of becoming part of your pack. Bro was the one who was supposed to protect you, make you feel safe.

You decide to believe that it’s simply a combination of the fact that you could definitely take Karkat in a fight and that he smells more like a Lego figurine than a person.

You refuse to look for any deeper meaning.


	2. All the Little Differences

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dave can't help comparing himself to Rose.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is pretty introspective, with no dialogue whatsoever. I'm not 100% sure it works, but I like the chapter and I think it establishes some important stuff for later on, so I'm posting it.

You’ve been living on the meteor for a few weeks now. And in that time you’ve started subconsciously comparing yourself to Rose.

You keep trying to tell yourself it’s not a good comparison. You’re a male Omega, she’s a female Beta. There’s got to be a lot of differences in instinct and behavior between those two, right? So it’s not a good comparison. Neither of you is a good baseline for the other, it’s like apples and oranges. You should really just stop.

But somewhere in the back of your mind, you keep cataloguing each little difference, collecting them like stones in a bucket.

For example, you both have a startle response to something fast moving out of the corner of your eye. This happens surprisingly frequently on the meteor, because Kanaya walks really fast and really silently, even to your paranoid ears. But Terezi, Vriska, and of course Karkat have all gotten the jump on you at least once. You blame their stupid lack of scent.

The difference is, Rose’s reaction to someone quickly sneaking by out of the side of her vision is to whip her head around to face it. And then usually laugh or smile or relax to see that it’s just you or one of the trolls.

When _you_ get startled by something you can’t quite see moving way too fast, your response is to jump like an entire foot in the air, your heart rate pounding like hooves after the shot is fired on a racetrack. And for the first week, you drew your sword on instinct every time, even though you _know_ Bro is dead. Even now that you’ve trained yourself out of actually pulling a blade on your friends, your hands still clench around a phantom handle.

Vriska usually laughs at you. Kanaya always apologizes profusely, like _she’s_ the one who’s done something stupid and embarrassing. Terezi just quirks a frown at you and asks if you’re okay, and you always tell her you’re fine. Rose normally says something sardonic and cutting, to which you respond with something ironic and cool, and then you two go off into a little banter game.

The couple of times Karkat has got that reaction out of you since the first time, he’s given you a look, a sort of half-sorry nod, and moved on.

You’re kind of grateful that he doesn’t make a big production out of it.

You’ve also - and you know that this is _really_ stupid, but you just can’t stop - started comparing your appearances.

Genetically, you’re siblings. And now that you know that, you can see all the little points of similarity. Your skin tones and hair color are very nearly the same shade - you’ve been burnt a bit darker and bleached a bit whiter by the Texas sun, but you bet after a couple more months on this lightless meteor, you’ll match. You both have the same short earlobes and the same rounded lips. Her nose points a little bit further down than yours, but is otherwise exactly the same. The shape of her eyes is identical to your own, even if the colors are different.

And that’s the thing. There’s all these little differences, too, that keep sticking out to you.

Your fingers are the same length, but your palms are squarer than hers, and covered with sword-wielding calluses, where she only has a huge one on her middle finger from the way she holds her pens (which is different from the way you do, you’ve noticed). She has more body fat than you, and not just in the chest and hip department, either - throughout her stomach and arms, as well. You’re also taller than her, although not by much. The shapes of your chin and jaw are radically different, more than can be accounted for just by the fact that you’ve got more testosterone.

The bits you keep coming back to, that are almost distractingly different, are the sides of Rose’s neck.

She doesn’t have a mating scar, but of course she doesn’t. You knew that. It’s not like you’ve lived the same life, after all, even if you share a whole bunch of genes. You don’t catalogue every little scar you have that she doesn’t, that would be silly. (You do, though. You absolutely do.)

But. The line from her neck to her shoulder is smooth and unblemished, as elegant as the sloped feet of the Eiffel Tower. Her mating glands are invisible, hiding demurely under her skin.

Yours are puffy and flushed with blood all the time.

They don’t hurt at all. You know what it’s like when your mating glands are actually swollen, are intimately familiar with that pressure in your throat and the throbbing in your armpits, and you haven’t felt that since the last time you went into heat. Even when you brush against them, or press your hands to them, there’s no pain. They do feel warm under your fingers, warmer than the rest of your skin, but not hot like when they swell.

They’re just. Red and sticking out, little angry lumps on the sides of your neck near your shoulders, slightly bigger around than quarters.

And it’s only when you’re here, comparing yourself to Rose, that you realize they’ve _always_ been like that, since your very first heat.

You try to tell yourself that maybe this is normal for male Omegas, one of those things everybody knows but never wants to talk about or see. Like how teenagers on TV never have acne. It could just be a normal part of puberty for you.

Except that you’ve never heard of this before. Sex ed classes talked about puberty and acne and presentations, but they never mentioned the possibility that your mating glands might get puffy without being swollen.

In fact, pretty much the only thing anyone ever said about mating glands was to be sure to keep them clean, because they can be prone to infection, and that biting someone there immediately before, during, or after orgasm forms a mating bond because of saliva in the gland. This is one of many reasons why you should only ever have sex with someone after you’ve gotten married to them, because abstinence is the only 100% reliable way to not wind up with AIDS, pregnant, and dead in a gutter somewhere.

Yeah, sex ed in Texas _sucked_.

So maybe since it sucked so bad, this just isn’t a thing they thought you needed to learn about. Or maybe it’s just a super rare but ultimately harmless genetic condition.

But lying to yourself doesn’t work for very long, because it’s really obvious to you what the difference is between you and Rose. And it’s not that you’re a boy and she’s a girl, or that you’re an Omega and she’s a Beta, or that you grew up in Texas and she grew up in New York.

The difference is that you’re mated, and she’s not.

You’ve got three years on this meteor. Statistically speaking, most mating bonds fade within six months to one year of one member of the pair dying.

Maybe by the time you make it to the new session, the skin of your neck will be as smooth as hers.

(It will never be unblemished, though.)


	3. Hot Water Bottles and Dark Chocolate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rose is on her period, so Dave does something nice for her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> dammit, if i'm gonna have a story that revolves around biological cycles _i'm gonna write about Beta cycles too._

You’re a little uncomfortable when you realize that you can _smell_ when Rose is on her period.

It’s nothing dramatic, like some intense hormonal variation changing her normal flowery scent to something else or anything like that. There’s just a hint of blood clinging to her clothes, and yeah sure it’s a natural part of life, but menstrual blood is still _blood_. And blood is a smell you’re really sensitive to.

Also, she spends those days either holed up in her bedroom or curled up on the couch in the common room barely moving, hands clamped around her stomach so. Y’know. You can tell.

So you decide to do something about it. The next time you find Rose curled on the common room couch, smelling of blood, you’re ready.

You start by decaptchaloguing the bag of chocolates and tossing them into her lap.

She picks it up and reads the label. “Ghirardelli 72% cocoa squares?” she says, looking up at you. “How on earth did you make this?”

By spending more than eighty hours in the past two weeks fiddling with a Hershey bar and various add-ins at the alchemizer.

You shrug like it was nothing. “Just got lucky, I guess,” you say, which is totally true, if John’s right that there are trillions of possible combinations of captcha codes.

Then you lift up the hand you’ve got hidden behind your back. “Also I made a hot water bottle-”

Rose snatches the hot water bottle before you’ve even finished speaking, letting out a slight whimper of relief as she presses it to her stomach. You can’t help but be amused, even though watching her suffer isn’t really funny at all. You sit down on the couch beside her carefully, half-expecting her to tell you to fuck off, for some reason.

She doesn’t. She just opens the bag and starts eating the chocolate. The two of you sit in silence awhile, before you can’t stand the eerie quiet and start rambling like a moron.

“I hope that wasn’t, like, too forward or whatever,” you say, not looking at her and hoping she can’t tell with your shades in place. “Also I know Betas on their periods craving chocolate is a huge stereotype, so maybe I shouldn’t have gone and alchemized that. But - and I’m not saying you’re stereotypical here, because you’re definitely not - you always struck as the kind of person who _would_ like dark chocolate, and I thought you might like something nice because your periods seem pretty shitty and-”

Rose cuts you off by placing a hand on your arm. She gives you a sardonic little smile, quirking an eyebrow, and offers the bag of chocolates to you. You take a square without saying anything and unwrap it.

“Thank you,” Rose says. “The chocolates are good. And this _is_ nice.” She settles herself a little on the couch, hugs the hot water bottle a little tighter. “It’s nice that you noticed.”

“I’m gonna go out on a limb here and guess that your Mom didn’t.”

The look Rose gives you almost makes you want to go back in time five seconds and stop yourself from saying that.

“HO-kay, not talking about moms and their observation habits,” you say, a bit too loudly. “Let’s change the subject. Crazy weather we’ve been having, huh?”

Rose fiddles with an empty wrapper, turning it over and over in her hands before carefully shredding it along the serrated edges.

“No,” she says. “Mom didn’t notice. Not very often. She was usually too drunk to realize things like that.”

“That… sucks,” you say, because you don’t know what else you can say.

Rose shrugs. “It wasn’t a big deal,” she says. “I was a very self-sufficient girl. I doubt Mom would have even noticed my presentation if I hadn’t needed to ask her where she kept the feminine hygiene products. I’ve never been a particularly clingy person.”

“Really?” you say, tentatively. “I mean, I guess I don’t know what it’s like for Betas, but I thought that the need to be with your pack was pretty much universal.”

She turns away from you. “It is.” After a slight pause she says, “She already seemed like she had so much on her plate. I didn’t want to be a bother.”

Well, you can’t say you don’t know that feeling.

“Hey,” you say. You hesitate for a second, and then reach out and place a hand on her knee, gently shaking it. “You’re not a bother, Rose.”

Her mouth moves like she’s chewing her tongue or biting the inside of her cheek. “I know that,” she says. “Most of the time.”

“So, uh,” you say. “I know it’s not really the same and all. But. Would it help to have a pack again?”

Rose glances at you through her eyelashes. “Are you offering?”

You try not to sweat. “I mean, the trolls don’t have scents, so I’m guessing they can’t really form packs. Who else would I be talking about?” you say.

Then, because that sounded super flippant and you don’t want her to think you’re not taking the idea of becoming _pack_ seriously, you say, “Yeah. Yeah, I’m offering.”

There’s a pause, and you follow up with, “I mean, no judgment or pressure or anything if you don’t want that. I’m not exactly your Mom, and yeah we’ve known each other a long time and we’re sorta technically siblings, but that doesn’t actually have to mean anything, it’s not like we grew up together and we’ve only known each other in person for like two months-”

Rose cuts you off by leaning in and taking your chin firmly in her hand. You shut the fuck up because you’re rambling like a dumbass.

“Just so we’re clear,” she says, solemnly. “You are, in fact, suggesting that you and I scent-mark each other regularly for the express purpose of creating a pack dynamic, and you are proposing that we start right now.”

“Yeah,” you say, because she’s holding your chin too tightly to nod.

“Good,” she says.

And then she rubs her face against your cheek.

You hum as the floral scent sinks into your skin, can’t hold in the pleased noise, and you return the favor, pressing your cheek to hers. You hope your shades aren’t poking her in the eye or something, because that would be a really sucky way to start the pack.

Feeling suddenly brave, you wrap your arms around her, letting your wrist glands move across her back. She returns the hug, pulling you closer to her, and you feel the heat of the water bottle between your bodies. This is nice. It’s nice, to be scent-marked again, to _have_ someone you know is going to be there for you no matter what, even if that connection is still sort of fragile and new and tentative.

That’s when you hear the iconic sound of the transportalizer activating.

Half-panicked, you push Rose away instinctively, because you can’t let anyone _see_ you -

You have half a second to register Rose’s hurt look before she suddenly tenses up, looking behind you at whoever just entered the room.

“I’m sorry,” says Kanaya. “Was I… interrupting something?”

Oh Christ. Kanaya totally thinks you have a thing for Rose, now.

Which, you kind of do? But not the kind of _thing_ she’s probably thinking right now. And you know that Rose likes Kanaya, and she seems frozen, and you know the longer this silence stretches, the more wrong conclusions Kanaya will leap to, and you _really_ don’t want to ruin their chances with each other, because the thought of seeing Rose mopey and disappointed makes your heart feel like it’s being slowly crushed under a steamroller.

So you stretch and turn to look at Kanaya, nonchalant, and say, “We were just pack-bonding, you know, the weird human gender stuff that none of you trolls can be bothered to understand.”

Kanaya takes immediate offense, which was exactly the reaction you were going for. “That’s not fair. I think I, at least, have developed a fairly firm grasp on human gender dynamics. I know that packs are groups of affiliated humans who work together for the common good of the pack.”

You raise your eyebrows above the line of your shades, like you’re surprised she knows that, even though you’re not. “Huh,” you say.

“Was I not correct?”

“You were correct,” Rose says, smoothing down her skirt. “Packs are also very important for most people’s psychological wellbeing. A strong pack can help to stabilize moods and make pack members more resilient when facing traumatic situations.”

Kanaya sits down on a chair fairly close to the couch. “So, not unlike the function of a moirail in troll society, but with a larger group of people?”

Rose cocks her head at that. “I suppose so, although for us, pack relationships wouldn’t necessarily be considered romantic, although romantic partners often do form their own packs…”

As the two of them enter into a spirited discussion of comparative socio-whatever, you stand and slip out of the room quietly. You’d feel like a huge tool if you tried to butt in right now, and there’s no need for you to stick around. You can always do more bonding with Rose later.

And besides, even as you walk away, you can still smell her floral scent on your skin. The process has already started, all it takes now is time.

If there’s one thing you’ve got on this garbage rock, it’s time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> jsyk, i'm dealing with a major family emergency right now, so on the one hand, there's a possibility that my "every few days" update schedule will slow down a lot.
> 
> on the other hand, i might be trying to distract myself from the issue with fanfic, so it's just as likely that there will be no slow down at all.
> 
> i just wanted to let you all know, in case there _is_ a big gap between this update and the next one, that's the reason why, and i have not abandoned this series!


	4. Addicting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dave goes into heat on the meteor for the first time. It's even worse than he thought it would be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! Thank you all for being patient as I worked on this chapter. The family emergency I mentioned _did_ end up happening at the end of February, and between that and COVID-19, I've been really struggling to write much of anything. Rest assured I haven't abandoned this series, and in fact there's a whole bunch of stuff I've written that I can't post yet for plot reasons.
> 
> CHAPTER WARNINGS: number one, there's a tiiiiiny bit of unrequited Dave/Rose content. If that bothers you, I have more details about that in the end notes. Additionally, there are panic attacks, emotional flashbacks, suicidal thoughts (basically "I don't really care about living anymore"), and some mild vomit.

When a person has done as much time travel as you have, keeping track of days becomes slightly difficult. You have a sense, in the back of your mind, of how long it's been, but it doesn't translate well into concepts like weeks and months.

Still, even with the confusion inherent to spending several weeks of time in the span of a few hours, you're pretty sure you're coming up on your next heat. 

You can't decide what to do about it. 

On the one hand, you totally know how your instincts work, especially in the middle of a heat. You will be desperately craving the presence of your pack, their touch, their scents. Although the pack you're forming with Rose is still young and fragile, you've already started to feel that familiar sense of rightness whenever you're around her, and you know you'll want her with you when you go into heat.

On the other hand, you're pretty sure you're still bonded to your Bro. You'll be aching for that leather, oil, and cigarette smell, for his hormones, for his knot, and you're not going to be able to get it. Which is going to leave you a sobbing, sex-crazed mess, and you don't really want Rose to see you like that.

You have two options - hole up in your room and ride out the waves of need on your own, or make it unequivocally clear to Rose that you've been mated by letting her see your vulnerability.

When you put it like that, it's hardly a choice at all.

The morning you wake up sticky with slick and flushed all over, you leave your nest just long enough to ensure that your door is locked, before diving back into the safety of your blankets and pillows.

You spend a lot of time in your room, partly out of habit and partly because there's not much else to do on the meteor. You estimate you probably have a day or two before Rose will miss you, and probably by then you'll be able to think up a good cover story.

Your guess turns out to be dead wrong when, two hours later, while you're face down in your nest with your ass in the air, shaking with need and feeling so goddamn _empty_ , she knocks on your door _._

"Dave?" Rose says. "I'm coming in."

You hear the ka-klunk sound as she jiggles the door handle and discovers it's locked. 

"Dave, you locked the door, you'll have to get up to let me in," she says.

Her flowery scent is seeping through the door like the tendrils of a horrorterror, tempting and terrifying. You _want_ her, you want your pack, you want to fling open the door and press your face to hers and never let her go, never be _alone_ \- but you _need_ your Bro, and you're naked and leaking and even in the desperate throes of heat you still don't want her to see you like this.

"Go away," you say, your voice muffled by your sheets. 

"I know you're in heat, Dave, I could tell that you were in pre-heat yesterday and I can smell you now." She tries the door again, as if she thinks something has changed in the past thirty seconds. "It's nothing to be ashamed of."

God, you wish it really was nothing to be ashamed of. "Kind of a bad time, Rose," you say, feeling slick trickle down your thighs. " _Really_ a bad time."

"What do you…" She trails off. Then, in a voice of total disbelief she says, "Are you _already_ masturbating? Really?"

You chuckle weakly and shift on your bed, because the correct answer is _no_ , you're not. You can't, not in heat, when you're waiting for Bro to come to you. Nothing feels good except the warmth of his tongue, the rough scrape of his stubble, the pressure of his cock at your weeping hole. In a few hours you might be horny enough to try, but in the past you’ve always been so fixated on getting him to fuck you that you’ve never taken the time to bother with that.

But you're trying _not_ to let Rose know that you've been mated to your dead brother, so you don't say any of that.

"Heh, you caught me," you say instead. "Sorry, Rose, we Striders are insatiable sex machines, I thought you knew."

"You smell like you're in pain."

Your mating glands started to ache a while ago, but you're surprised that even registers in your scent, because you know it's going to get _so_ much worse.

"I'm fine, Rose, just leave me alone, okay?"

There’s silence on the other side of the door for a little bit. Then Rose says, “You’ll message me, when you’re ready to scent-bond?”

“Yeah, totally,” you say, knowing you’re not going to message her until after your heat passes.

She leaves.

Within hours you are writhing, _desperate_ for your Bro’s knot.

Slick keeps gushing out from between your legs, trickling down to form a disgusting puddle under your knees. You have your ass pushed as high in the air as it can go without toppling over, your face buried in your tear-soaked blankets.

Your mating glands _burn_ in your neck, no matter what position you hold yourself in.

Where _is_ he? Where is your Alpha? Your scent is tempting him, calling out to him, ripe and thick and sweet, emanating from your burning mating glands like a siren song. But he’s not _here_ , he isn’t coming, you can’t even smell him.

Even in the heats when he let you suffer, you could always at least smell him. You suffered worse _because_ you could smell him, because you knew he was right there and still wouldn’t scent you, wouldn’t _take_ you, wouldn’t give you his knot and his come like you need, like you crave.

But you stick your trembling thighs in the air and whimper and cringe and he’s never been anywhere near this meteor, and he’s never coming for you.

The dick between your legs is soft and limp, because none of this feels good. You ache, empty and hollow, and your Alpha isn’t here.

Finally desperate, you shove your fingers back to your own slick ass, touching the edge of your hole. You’re so wet, so open, so ready, that you can slide two fingers in all the way to the knuckle without a hint of resistance. The gasp that escapes you sounds like you’ve been kicked in the ribs.

The angle is awful, but you stretch your fingers, rubbing along your inner walls, twisting your arm so that you can rub up against your clit. A spark of pleasure runs up your spine like goosebumps on a cold night, and it does _nothing_.

It’s not enough. It’s not e-fucking-nough, because your mate, your Alpha, isn’t here.

You jam your fingers farther in, whining loudly, and breathless words fall from your lips. “Alpha, Alpha, Alpha, _please_ , fuck me, mate me, please, _please_ , I promise I’ll be good…”

Desperate, you think to yourself, _If he won’t come to me, I’ll go to him._

Bro has only made you wait behind a locked door during your heats a few times, but it still feels instinctive to stagger out of the comforting safety of your nest and crawl on hands and knees to the threshold of your room. You can’t catch even a whiff of him, and you feel like you’re going crazy with need. Your heart is galloping, and you can feel the pulsing rush of blood in your swollen mating glands, and you fucking _need_ your Bro, but you can’t find him.

The panic sets in quickly. Where’s your _pack?_ Where’s your _mate?_ Why aren’t you in your nest? You’re exposed and trembling on the hard cold floor and _anyone_ could come along, anyone could fucking _find_ you like this.

“ _Please_ ,” you whine, high-pitched. “Please please please, where are you? Fuck, I need you, Alpha, please, I need you to fuck me, where are you?”

Terror claws at you. _He’s not here. He’s not coming._

Your pack, your mate, your Alpha, has abandoned you.

Tears start rolling down your cheeks and you sob, the shuddering cries causing your whole body to tremble. Your mating glands are on fire, and you need an Alpha, a mate, but you’re all alone, and no one is coming for you.

Time slides into meaninglessness, and your vision disappears. You cry until the tears won’t come anymore, leaving your throat ragged and aching like you’ve been choking on your Bro’s dick. God, you fucking _wish_ you were choking on his dick, but he’s left you, he’s abandoned you. You’re a sorry excuse for an Omega and nobody is ever going to satisfy you.

You lie there, possibly only for seconds, possibly for eons.

Then a familiar scent reaches your nose, and you think, _my pack_.

“ _Please_ ,” you whisper, your throat so raw from crying that you can barely form the word. “Please, I’ll be good, I swear, please please please…”

“Dave!”

Your pack smells of fear, which only makes you more frightened than you already are. You are exposed, away from your nest, and you can smell your pack but they’re not _here_ and on top of that, they’re _scared._

“Fuck, please, please let me in, I need you, please, fuck,” you gasp.

“I can’t, Dave, you’re the one who locked the door, you have to let me in.” Your pack’s voice is tense and panicked.

You choke on a dry sob. “I don’t - I can’t see,” you cry. “I can’t do it, I don’t know -”

“Just, reach up. Do you feel the doorknob?”

You follow the directions, your hand closing over smooth metal. “I feel it, but I don’t -”

“Good. Do you feel the bump on the knob?”

Pure, unrestrained elation fills you, even at that single word of praise. You’re doing good. Your pack is happy with you. “Yeah,” you say.

“Turn the bump for me.”

Your clumsy fingers almost can’t manage the movement, but eventually, you get it going the right direction. As soon as you’ve completed the turn, the door bursts open, releasing a flood of scent into your room.

“Dave!” Warm arms envelope you and a soft cheek descends to the top of your head. Floral scent permeates your skin.

“Rose,” you mutter, weakly, and tears fill your eyes, half in joy and half in bitter disappointment.

Because yes, this is your pack, this is safety and comfort and love.

But it isn’t Bro, it isn’t your _mate_ , and your body is still crying out for him and going unanswered.

“Let’s get you to your nest,” Rose whispers, and stands. You try to follow her, but your legs are so weak that she is forced to practically carry you across the floor.

You whimper helplessly and cling to her, burying your face into her shoulder. Part of you, in the back of your head, is aware that you’re naked and dripping and this is the most embarrassing thing that has ever happened to you. A larger and much louder part of you is screaming that you need your Alpha.

Rose lays you down in your nest. Under normal circumstances, you know you would suddenly feel much more confident and content, now that you’re safely hidden within your own comforting scent.

Unfortunately, these are far from normal circumstances. Your mating glands are on fire, your whole body is quivering, and you need to be mated _right fucking now_.

You clutch Rose’s shoulders tight, your nails digging into her skin so hard she lets out a gasp of surprise. “Rose,” you croak, your throat raw and aching. “I need you to bond me.”

She recoils, wrenching herself out of your grip with a startling strength. “What? Dave, no, what the fuck?”

Panic shoots through every inch of your being and you can’t stop yourself from panting because you can’t be alone, you _can’t,_ she’s going to leave you because you’re such a needy dumbass and it’s all your fault. You should have just kept quiet, you know better, you know you only get whatever your pack deigns to give you.

(But you also only get things if you _beg_ for them, so there’s no winning. You’re never able to win when it comes to your Bro.)

“Sorry,” you gasp, unable to stop yourself from reaching for her, trying to hold her back, to keep her _here_ , “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, don’t go, I’ll be good, I’m sorry, I promise…”

You inhale wrong on one of your gasps and then you’re choking on your own spit, coughing so hard you think you may have _ruptured_ something. Now you’re really panicking, desperately trying to suck in air and finding you _can’t_ because you just keep coughing and gasping and -

Rose lays her hand against the side of your face, marking you with her wrist gland. “Shh, Dave,” she whispers, softly. “Just breathe. In and out. Okay?”

You try to listen, breathe with her, just like she tells you. It’s hard when you’re coughing but you struggle to complete it, because this is your _pack_ and she’s asking you to do it…

“Good, just like that,” Rose says, and it’s pathetic how ridiculously good those soft words of encouragement make you feel. You try even harder to calm your breathing, to match her rhythm, because she wants this, she likes this, she is _pleased_ with you, and if you’re good for her, maybe she’ll _stay_.

After you finally return to normal breathing, you just lay huddled in your nest for a little while, inhaling the scent of your pack. You feel exhausted, and you have no idea how long you’ve been in heat.

But, though you’re exhausted, within minutes you find yourself shifting restlessly. Yeah, okay, _part_ of your pack is here, but your Bro still isn’t. He hasn’t yet claimed you and you _need_ him with a desperation more vital than life itself. That drive to mate once more pushes you to your knees and you try to crawl out of your nest.

Rose’s hand on your arm stops you and you kneel, quivering, head bowed, half-in and half-out of your nest. You _need_ to go forward, to find your Bro, but Rose wants you to stay _here_. The conflicting impulses make you feel like you’re going to explode.

“Where are you going, Dave?” Rose asks, still so gentle.

You’re choking on your own desperation. “I need… I have to… my _Alpha_ ,” you say. “I _need_ him.”

Rose sucks in a sharp breath, and then the hand on your arm rises and touches your mating gland - just over where your bonding scar is.

You _scream_ as the pain lances through you, your elbows buckling. Then your legs can’t hold you either, and you fall flat to the mattress. Thankfully, the sudden movement takes Rose’s hand away from your mating gland, and the pain lessens instantly.

“Oh, _Dave_ ,” Rose says. “I’m so sorry.”

You curl around yourself and shudder, tears running down your face to soak into the sheets and blankets beneath you. “He’s not _coming_ ,” you cry. “He-He doesn’t _care_.”

Rose curls around you, bracketing your body, and it’s nice, it’s warm, but it’s not what you need, not at all. You end up lying there for several hours, and every few minutes you pull yourself towards the door and she pulls you back down, and you thrash and sob and it’s possibly the _worst_ heat you’ve ever had.

Eventually, exhausted, aching, and desperate, you pass out.

The next thing you remember is waking up to the sour tinge of Rose’s fear-scent, filling the entire room like a cloud of toxic gas. The smell is absolutely nauseating, and you feel your gorge rise. You swallow hard, trying to keep it down.

“Dave?” Rose is saying. “Are you actually awake? Do you think you can drink something?”

You flop your head. “Wh-” you start to say, but something catches in your throat and your body is wracked with a fit of coughing. The movement is so violent and the previous nausea so overpowering that you find yourself suddenly coughing up thin, acidy puke.

Rose rubs your back, and when you’ve finished being sick all over the place she pulls you away from the mess, tucking you against her chest and repeatedly scent-marking the top of your head. 

You try to hug her, to clutch her robes, but your arms are so weak you can barely raise them. They’re also shaking almost uncontrollably, and you feel half-frozen from the aching cold that has seeped its way into your body. Everything hurts, and everything smells _disgusting_ right now.

And your Alpha still isn’t here.

You let out a pathetic-sounding whimper of distress, and you feel your mating glands like branding irons against your neck.

Rose hums and adjusts your position, so that you’re sitting a bit more upright as you lean against her. “Here,” she says, and she presses something cool and hard to your lips. “Drink this for me?”

You open your mouth and comply, taking in tiny sips at a time. Your coordination is terrible, and you keep coughing unexpectedly, causing you to inhale the water, which worsens the cough. Sometimes Rose tilts the glass too fast and it spills out the sides of your mouth, sending cold trails down your cheeks and neck and making you shiver.

By the time you’ve finished the glass, you’re fucking exhausted. You lean your whole weight on Rose, feeling tired and heavy.

“Dave?” Rose says, and there’s panic in her voice. “Don’t - don’t go to sleep yet. Try to stay awake.” She pokes you in the ribs.

You whine through closed lips and bury your head into her shoulder. Your whole body is shaking with cold and pain and you just want to sleep this one out, for once in your goddamn life.

“Dave, _please_ don’t fall asleep again,” Rose says. She sounds - and smells - like she’s on the verge of crying. “I’m scared if you do you won’t wake up.”

That’s… not actually all that surprising, come to think of it. You’ve certainly felt like you were going to die while in heat before, when your Bro wouldn’t come to you, so it makes sense that you would also look like it to the casual observer.

 _It doesn’t matter,_ you find yourself thinking. _I don’t care._

You want to tell yourself that you’re not worried because dying like this would be neither Heroic nor Just, only _humiliating_ , so you’d come back to life, but the truth is… you simply don’t care about your life, anymore. You haven’t cared in a very long time.

But Rose doesn’t want you to die, and you can’t upset Rose.

So you whine a little more under your breath and bury yourself a bit deeper into her shoulder. “‘M _cold_ ,” you say, and then cough.

“Here,” Rose says, and pulls a blanket around your shoulders. “Just, stay with me, okay?”

“Why’re ya so worried?” you mutter, huddling under the blanket and against Rose’s body. _God_ you want to fall asleep, but Rose says you can’t, so you won’t.

“You’ve been unconscious or barely conscious for almost five days, Dave,” Rose says, her voice tight. “I couldn’t… you weren’t even drinking anymore, and you’re still sweating so bad and…”

“I… really?” you say.

“Yes, really,” Rose says. “Can you handle another glass of water?”

“I think I’ll just end up throwing it up, right now,” you admit. She makes an unhappy noise and holds you tighter.

She’s upset.

She’s mad at you.

Your heart starts to thump wildly, and you go still. You’ve upset your pack and you’re not _supposed_ to upset your pack, you’re supposed to be a good Omega and do what they tell you to do. Rose wants you to drink some water, and for fuck’s sake, it’s just a little goddamn water, even if you do feel nauseous as all hell and you’re trying not to remember all the times you drank so much so fast after your heat you made yourself sick.

Thinking about what happens after your heat ends, you realize that although you’re sweating and shivering and freezing… you’re not producing slick.

After a second, you say, “‘M not in heat anymore, am I.”

Rose shakes her head. “No,” she says, and then adds, very quietly, but not so quietly you can’t hear her, “This is clearly withdrawal.”

You make a noncommittal noise, even as your heart picks up its pace.

“Can I ask who bonded you?” Rose says, her voice flat and even. There’s not even a hint of emotion in her tone.

It reminds you so much of Bro’s freezing, blank-faced rage that for half a second you can’t breathe. You tense, every muscle as taut and expectant as the skin of a snare drum, just waiting to be hit.

When you don’t respond, Rose asks, “Was it your brother?”

You can’t answer. You don’t know what’s the right thing to say. You’ve no fucking clue what she wants from you, what her expectations are, not like the way you (mostly) knew Bro’s. Every instinct inside you is warning that this conversation is a fucking trap, but you don’t know where the landmines are, you don’t know what the safe response even _is._

But failing to respond is just as bad, c’mon, Dave, Rose just _asked you a question_ , are you so fucking stupid you can’t even answer a single goddamn question? She’ll be getting impatient, you’re always so stubborn and unhelpful and you’ve got to come up with _something_ but you don’t know the right answer…!

Your heart is pounding so fast in your chest you almost can’t separate out the individual beats anymore, it’s turned into an unceasing cascade as fast and furious and unpredictable as white water rapids. The pace of your breath quickens to match.

“Breathe, Dave,” Rose says. She sounds pained. “Just breathe. In and out, slowly.”

At least with this, you know what she wants from you, even if it’s so incredibly fucking difficult to achieve. You take in the slowest, deepest breath you can.

“That’s it,” Rose says. “In and out.”

Once your breathing gets back under control you tense in anticipation, expecting her to ask her question again, and you _still_ don’t know the correct answer. You almost psych yourself up into another spiral of panic over the thought of it.

But the question doesn’t come. Rose just holds you tight to her side and scent-marks your head with her chin, a wordless gesture of comfort and reassurance.

You sit there for a while, leaning against her, and you don’t know what to think.

Finally, you say, “I think I’ll try another glass of water, now,” because you want to be good for her.

“What about Gatorade?” she says, reaching out to what must presumably be a stash of water and Gatorade. “It has electrolytes.”

“All right. As long as it’s not the fucking green-apple flavor, that shit’s an insult to my beloved AJ.”

A moment later, the plastic rim is pressed to your lips, and you begin to drink. When you finish off as much as you can, you push Rose’s hand away and curl your head once more into her shoulder.

 _Withdrawal_ , Rose said. Cuz you were forced to quit your Bro’s hormones cold turkey, you guess. That makes sense, that’s how a bond works, isn’t it? Fuck, you really _are_ just like a junkie looking for his next fix, aren’t you?

But that ought to mean that, if you recover from this, you’ll be fine. You’ll have a normal heat, next time.

You sure hope so, because you don’t think either you _or_ Rose can take this again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dave/Rose clarification: Dave's desperate for literally _anyone_ to mate him, and when Rose tries to platonically comfort him as a pack member, he begs her to mate him. She refuses, and he freaks out a little bit because he perceives it as a rejection of _him_. Nothing happens between the two of them, although Dave's naked basically the entire chapter, and ends up cuddling with Rose while naked.
> 
> Thanks for reading! I hope to have more of this series up soon!


	5. Coolkid: Come Clean

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dave and Terezi have a conversation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This alleged Davekat fanfic sure has a lot of Dave interacting with people _other_ than Karkat, huh.
> 
> CHAPTER WARNINGS: Self-deprecating language, internalized gender bullshit.

You’re expecting things to get incredibly fucking awkward, after your heat. For one thing, Rose now knows at least a _little_ about just how fucked up you are. For another, all the trolls have to have noticed the fact that you disappeared inside of your room for over a week and that Rose was with you for most of that. Plus, you’re 99% certain that Rose told them you were in heat.

So you’re very surprised when nothing really changes.

The common room is still the common room. You still spook like a high-strung racehorse when Kanaya inevitably accidentally sneaks up on you. Can Town progresses as steadily as it always has. The Mayor continues to be the best fucking person on this miserable little rock in every conceivable way, shape, and form.

Nobody seems to notice or care about your heat and subsequent hormone withdrawal.

It’s unexpected, but you’re honestly really glad you don’t have to explain or justify yourself to anyone.

You start spending a lot more time in Can Town. You’d never admit it aloud to anyone, because you like to pretend that your interest is ironic or condescending, but it’s honestly kind of an impressive feat of creativity. You don’t think you’ve ever known anyone to put so much of themselves into a project as fully and sincerely as the Mayor has thrown himself into Can Town. Yeah, sure, it’s a bunch of empty tin cans and scribbled chalk drawings, but the time, care, and dedication he’s devoted to it have transformed it into a true work of art.

Part of you wishes you could give enough of your genuine self to any one project to approach that kind of beauty, without hiding behind facades of insincerity and layers of irony.

So whenever the Mayor asks you to help out, which is pretty much every time you end up visiting, you agree.

You’re working on drawing some trees for Can Town Central Park when Terezi swings by out of the blue. For once, she doesn’t seem to have Vriska tagging along with her.

“Hey,” she says, grinning with her way too many, extremely pointy teeth.

“‘Sup,” you reply, because you are nothing if not dedicated to the Meme.

She walks over to you. The Mayor hands her a piece of chalk, and she takes it easily. (Not candy red, you notice, probably because he’s lost one too many pieces of chalk that way. Then again, between him eating the green and her eating the red, you’re kind of surprised there’s any colors left on this meteor.)

Terezi sits down beside you, folding her lanky limbs up like stored tent poles. She starts drawing something ridiculous and garbled, leaning close to sniff and occasionally lick at her artwork. You still don’t understand how somebody can smell or taste colors, but it seems to work for her, so you’ve decided to stop questioning it.

“So,” Terezi says, working on what looks suspiciously like a dragon. “You lied to me, coolkid.”

“I thought you could smell deceit,” you say.

Terezi grins, sharp and predatory. “Of course I can smell deceit. But sometimes I let it slide, in pursuit of getting the _real_ truth out of someone.”

“So what’s the real truth you’re looking for, then?” you ask, adding some fish to the pond.

“I already found it. Now I’m investigating the motive for the deception.”

“So you’re interrogating me? Gonna break out the big shiny spotlight and cuff me to a chair?”

“I will if you make me.” Terezi has finished her first definitely-a-dragon and started in on a second one. Apparently, Central Park is getting a whole flock of dragons, which could spell trouble for its patrons. “But I don’t think I’ll need to resort to those tactics just yet.”

“Do your worst, Pyrope. I’ll never talk.”

She seems to be so focused on her drawing, like she’s not even paying attention to you at all, when she says, “You told me you were an Alpha.”

“Oh,” you say, feeling your insides turn to ice. Suddenly, this conversation doesn’t feel like silly dumb banter anymore. “Right.”

“Now, according to reliable testimony from a certain orange-clad eyewitness who shall remain nameless,” Terezi says, “You are actually, in fact, an Omega.”

“It’s… shit, ‘Rezi,” you say, your heart rate spiking. In that minute, you desperately wish that trolls had actual scents, because you can’t tell what she’s feeling. If you could sniff out the burning smokiness of anger or bitter tang of disappointment, you would know how to react. As it is, you just find yourself babbling.

“Fuck, I’m sorry, I don’t know why I said that, my mouth works faster than my brain sometimes. Or. I guess my fingers, cuz we were only talking in messages at the time. Look, sometimes I don’t think before I press the ‘send’ button. I’m just a blabbering, bullshitting idiot, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have -”

“Dave, chill,” she says, cutting you off. “It’s not like I’m angry. I couldn’t care less about whether you’re Alpha or Omega or fucking Epsilon, it’s all so much weird alien gobbledegook to me.”

“Epsilon’s not a thing,” you say, your voice still a little shaky, but Terezi just waves her hand.

“Shhh, I don’t care about alien sex bullshit,” she says. “What I want to know is why you thought you had to lie to me about it. What’s so bad about being an Omega?”

 _Everything,_ you think. _Omegas are weak and stupid and useless without their bonded Alphas, and the really shitty ones like me are like that even **with** their Alphas. We’re good for nothing but getting fucked and carrying pups, and I wasn’t even good enough for the carrying pups part._

When the silence stretches on for a bit too long because you don’t know what answer she wants from you, Terezi nudges you in the ribs. “Come on, Dave,” she says. “Rose didn’t seem to think it was a big deal when she told us.”

“Yeah, well, Rose is from New York.”

“All I hear is ‘blah blah blah, alien bullshit,’” Terezi says.

“I mean,” you say. “People where I’m from tend to think Omegas are weak. That they need someone to boss them around. I told you I was Alpha because I didn’t want you thinking you could tell me what to do.”

“But I kinda did tell you what to do,” she points out.

“But I didn’t want you to think you were _entitled_ to it,” you say. “Because you aren’t. Nobody is.”

Well. Except your Bro, cuz he was your mate and your pack leader. And now Rose is, because she’s your new pack leader, although there’s only two of you so you haven’t had to get super hierarchical yet, but you know she’s more dominant than you. And you’ll probably submit to Jade or John the next time you see them, even though you don’t really want them to think of you as weak.

But the truth is, you _are_ a weak little Omega. If you were stronger, you wouldn’t have been bonded by your own fucking brother. Maybe you _do_ need someone to tell you want to do. Maybe you’ve always needed someone to tell you what to do, as stupid as you are.

You can feel yourself deflating like an old balloon. Terezi watches you with that unique questioning expression she gets on her face, the one you’ve never seen anyone quite replicate. But you don’t have any good answers.

“I don’t know,” you say, quietly. “I don’t fucking know, Terezi. There’s your motive - there wasn’t one.”

Terezi tilts her head to one side. “You know it doesn’t change anything, right?”

You snort, despite yourself. “Well yeah,” you say. “It wouldn’t. It’s all blah blah blah alien bullshit to you.”

She nods, a shit-eating grin splitting her face. “Exactly, coolkid. I get to boss you around because I earned it, not because of your dumb sex rules.”

“Yeah,” you say.

And the weird thing about it is, she’s kind of right. You had already started deferring to her, listening to her plans, back when you thought she was a Beta and you didn’t stop when you found out she _wasn’t_. You never actually assumed she was an Alpha. Terezi was just… smart, and knew a lot about the game, and had access to your timeline. Plus, she was just as staunchly anti-Dead-Daves as you were.

Terezi has always felt like she was willing and able to protect you, even though she’s not your Alpha. Sure, she’s dangerous, but she’s always seemed dangerous to your _enemies_ , not to you.

Luckily, before you can say something stupid and embarrassing like _telling_ her how safe you feel around her, the Mayor shows up, making his weird little clicking noises. He doesn’t actually _talk_ , per se, but he always seems to get his point across anyway, and you know immediately that he needs your assistance because there’s something up on the ceiling he wants you to draw and you’re the only person in the room who can fly.

You stand, brushing off your knees. “Well, duty calls,” you say, taking the offered piece chalk from his hand. “I’ll see you around, Terezi.”

Terezi grins. “Later, coolkid.”


	6. Dude, That's Gay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dave is surprised when one night during a bought of insomnia, he finds Karkat watching a movie in the common room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally getting some more Karkat up in this bitch.
> 
> CHAPTER WARNINGS: Internalized homophobia.

You’re not exactly going out of your way to avoid running into Karkat, but you haven’t really seen much of the guy.

You’re starting to think _nobody_ sees much of the guy. Apparently, he spends most of his day alone in his room and doesn’t really talk to anyone. The only possible exception to that is Kanaya, but from the snatches of conversation you’ve overheard between her and Rose, you get the impression he’s started making excuses so as to give them some alone time.

So when you wander into the common room in the middle of the night because you can’t fucking sleep, you’re rather startled to find that Karkat is already there, lights off, his weird purple bug laptop glowing with light as he watches what you assume is a movie.

Of course, you’re not really sure whether it actually counts as the middle of the night. On the meteor there’s really nothing natural to indicate whether it’s night and day. Trolls are nocturnal and humans obviously aren’t, but despite that you’ve all come to an agreement on when you’re supposed to sleep.

Karkat doesn’t seem to have noticed that you’re there, so instead of turning on the lights you creep up behind him softly. Revenge is a dish best served _freezing_ , and now you’ve finally got a chance to get back at him for all the times he’s snuck up on you.

You peer over the back of the crouch and note with some surprise that he’s watching a human movie. After a few seconds of dialogue and recognizing the actors on screen, you realize exactly _which_ human movie he’s watching.

“Dude, Brokeback Mountain?” you say, loudly. “Seriously?”

Karkat fucking _shrieks_. He jumps so bad he kicks the coffee table, almost knocking his laptop off, windmilling his arms violently. One stubby grey claw almost scratches your face before you whip your head back. With one last flail, he loses his balance and lands ass-first on the floor with a loud _thump_.

You can’t suppress the snort of laughter that escapes you.

Karkat growls under his breath, but he’s so ridiculously nonthreatening that it just makes you laugh harder.

“Oh sure, laugh it up, Strider,” he snaps at you, pushing himself to his feet. “Do you have to be such a fucking asshole all the time?”

You smile with a vicious grin. “Yep. Contractually obligated, by virtue of being the coolest fucking dude on this meteor.”

Karkat snorts. “The coolest fucking dude on this meteor is the Mayor, and we both know it,” he says.

You blink.

“All right, you got me there,” you say, as Karkat settles back down onto his seat. “You hang out with the Mayor?”

“Oh hey, you just stepped in a big steaming pile of ‘none of your fucking business.’” He leans over and fiddles with his keyboard. “Thanks a lot, you made me miss the best fucking scene in the film.”

You blink again, because Karkat apparently is just a fountain of surprises.

“I’m sorry, you’ve watched this before? You’ve watched fucking _Brokeback Mountain_ enough times to have a favorite scene?” you say, letting your incredulity creep into your voice.

Karkat puts his nose in the air. “I _happen_ to think it’s one of the few good pieces of cinema your ridiculously primitive species managed to produce.”

“Dude,” you say, folding your arms across the back of the couch and resting your chin on your hands. “That’s gay.”

Karkat twists over his shoulder to glare at you and opens his mouth, probably to start in on one of his epic tirades.

You cut him off before he can start. “No, dude, I mean it’s _literally gay_ ,” you say. “Like, it’s literally about an Alpha and a Beta dude boning each other, that’s pretty much as gay as it can get.”

“It’s about a lot more than people boning, which you’d know if you’d ever actually watched it,” Karkat snaps. Then his face falls into a frown. “Though I’ll admit that I still don’t really understand the whole gay thing. Do people always beat them up?”

“Well, yeah,” you say, leaning most of the way over the couch until the tips of your toes are barely touching the floor anymore. “Being gay is super frowned on, so gay bashing is a thing.”

“But what does gay _mean,_ actually?” Karkat says.

“Simple. Two guys or two girls boning. Boom, gay.”

Karkat gives you a _look,_ half glaring at what you just said and half judging the way you’re draping yourself over the furniture. “Well I know _that’s_ not true, because nobody has any problems with Benvolio and Mercutio in Romeo and Juliet.”

“Well, yeah, they’re an Alpha-Omega couple,” you say, finally completing your couch gymnastics and sliding down onto the cushion, propping your face up on your elbows, your ass and feet in the air. You kick idly as Karkat sends death glares your way, and try not to grin.

Karkat closes his eyes and lets out a frustrated sigh. “Why would that make _any_ difference?” he says.

“Alphas with Omegas isn’t gay, they’re different genders, gay means you’re into the same gender as you,” you say. You slouch a bit further down the couch. It’s not exactly a comfortable position, with your shirt riding up and your stomach painfully taut, but the pure delight you feel at seeing Karkat’s utter exasperation is worth it.

“But Jack and Ennis _are_ different genders,” Karkat argues, and a sub-vocal growl laces under his words, and honestly, at this point his ridiculous attempts at Alpha-posturing are just kind of adorable.

You flip over onto your back and slouch down even further, until your head and arms are dangling off the side of the couch. “Betas are pretty much the same gender as whoever they’re with,” you say. “A Beta dude who’s boning another guy is gay, no matter what the other dude’s secondary gender is.”

“For fuck’s sake, _will you just sit on the couch like a NORMAL FUCKING PERSON?”_ Karkat shouts.

You poke him in the side and he yelps and curls away from you. “Dude, shut up, you’re gonna wake people,” you say.

“Don’t fucking poke me, asshole,” he says. “And I’ll stop shouting if you get up here and sit on the damn couch the right way.”

“Hmm, no, don’t think I will,” you say, even though the blood is rapidly rushing to your face.

“Seriously, Dave, _get on the goddamn couch._ ”

You flash him a shit-eating grin. “Make me.”

It provokes the exact response you were looking for, which is Karkat finally losing his cool and tackling you off the couch.

You roll out from under him as your back hits the floor, still feeling a little lightheaded from your upside-down escapades. He tries to keep his grip on you but only ends up tangling his claws in your cape as you twist away. You glide smoothly to your feet in a crouch, smirking at him.

Karkat goes low and lunges for your middle, locking his hands around your waist. You push down on his shoulders, kick yourself up, and do a sweet-ass flip over the top of his head, though you don’t quite stick the landing and wobble a bit as you turn to face him again.

Karkat takes advantage of your loss of balance and swipes at your leg with his foot, pushing your chest at the same time. You almost fall, but manage to catch yourself, stumbling backward and trying not to trip over the hem of your damn cape. The stupid thing is part of your magical god-pajamas - you’d think it would have a feature to stop it getting in the way.

To you, this amount of activity is nothing, but Karkat is breathing hard, growling. His brow is lowered and pinched together, and his teeth are bared, but the corners of his lips keep twitching up like he’s trying to suppress a grin.

“You’d make a terrible kismesis,” Karkat says. “Step off, Dave, I’m not interested in you like that.”

“All I hear is ‘blah blah alien bullshit,’” you say, doing your best impression of Terezi’s extremely unsettling grin.

“You’re hardly fucking subtle about it,” Karkat continues on, as if he didn’t hear you. “Every fucking time the two of us interact, you’re doing something to antagonize me. It’s immature and wigglerish.”

“I can’t help it,” you say, cheekily. “You’re just too damn fun to annoy.”

Karkat groans and stops moving, burying his face in his hands. “Yeah, see, that line?” he says. “Totally unsubtle. Possibly the cheesiest, most obvious bit of blackflirting I’ve ever heard.”

It’s your turn to roll your eyes. “I’m not playing your dumb alien romance games,” you say. “I was just taking the piss, Karkat, I don’t like you like that.”

“Then you need to stop fucking acting like it!” Karkat shouts. “Look, okay, I can explain the quadrants to you again and -”

“Yeah, okay, already tuning you out,” you say.

“It’s _basic fucking culture_ , you self-absorbed, bulge-licking -”

You interrupt him again. “Look, Karkat,” you say. “I don’t see we have to make a big deal about it. Can’t two guys get their wrestle on every now and then without it being a whole _thing_?”

Karkat glares at you, and then heaves a big sigh and looks away. “Fine, whatever,” he mutters. “I should have known better than to think you’d even be capable of wanting something like that.”

You nod sagely. “Yeah, big no on the hatemance,” you say. “Humans don’t do that stupid shit.”

“No,” Karkat says, snidely. “You do your _own_ stupid shit.” He turns away from you and settles back down on the couch, like he thinks he’s gotten the last word or something.

Like hell are you gonna let that go.

You plop yourself down next to him, resting your arm on the back of the couch. “All right, let’s get the gay train started back up again.”

“You weren’t even watching it,” Karkat says.

“I am now,” you say. “Chop chop, Karkat, time’s a-wasting, we’re burning daylight here.”

“There isn’t any fucking daylight, thank _god_ ,” Karkat says. “And I’m not letting you start three-quarters of the way into the movie, that’s ridiculous.” He leans forward and taps some buttons.

“What are you doing?” you say.

“Starting over,” he says. “If you’re gonna watch this with me you’ve got to watch the whole fucking thing.”

You groan in complaint, throwing back your head. “Seriously?”

“Yeah, _seriously_ ,” Karkat snaps.

“Ugh, fine, whatever,” you say, and settle in to watch the gayest fucking movie on the planet.

Two hours later, when the movie draws to a close, you stand and leave, only giving Karkat the bare minimum of a goodbye. You can hear him snarking loudly about how rude you are halfway down the corridor.

Brokeback Mountain is a weird fucking movie, you decide, as your brain churns uncomfortably. It’s just weird, and that’s all there is to say about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *whispers* damnit, i started shipping davekat because of penis ouija, there's always gonna be a kismetic/belligerent sexual tension element to it for me.
> 
> also, did i just turn mercutio/benvolio into a canon relationship in my ABO au? you bet your ass i did. (mostly cuz i couldn't think up many good couples that aren't either 1. already straight 2. make gayness a major part of the relationship for me or 3. wildly out of character for karkat. shakespeare seemed like a decent compromise.)


	7. The World's Most Pathetic Omega

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dave has another heat, and is surprised to find it's not much better than the last one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have I mentioned I love Rose to pieces, yet? I swear Davekat is the main pairing and there will be a lot more Karkat in the future, I just really need to get some pack bonding fluff and angst off my chest first.
> 
> CHAPTER WARNINGS: Minor panic attack, the usual angst with past incest and sexual abuse, internalized victim-blaming.

Your next heat hits in mid-September, and to your frustration and confusion, it’s almost as bad as the last one.

You’re still a dripping, sobbing mess, desperately craving your Alpha’s knot and feeling like you’re going to _die_ when you don’t get it.

The only significant difference between this heat and your last one is that instead of trying to muscle through it on your own, Rose curls up in your nest with you from the very beginning, scent-marking you and offering what meager comfort she can.

You’re ashamed to say that you beg Rose - your _own fucking sister_ \- to mate you at least three times over the course of your heat, because while you’re sitting there dying because your Bro won’t come to you, it feels like you need a bondmate more than you need to _breathe_. And hey, what’s a little more incest in the fucked-up reality that is your life?

Rose calmly and gently turns you down, stroking your hair out of your face and whispering how sorry she is that she can’t help you that way. It makes you sob like a baby every time she tells you _no_ , but now that it’s over and you’re lying here exhausted, your head cradled in her lap, you’re glad she didn’t.

You really _don’t_ want her to mate you.

You… kinda think you don’t want to be mated to anyone, if _this_ is what happens when you lose them.

You roll your head back to look up at her. You’re still sweating so hard that you’re leaving damp patches on her skirt.

“I thought you said I went through withdrawal _last_ time,” you mutter.

She pushes your drenched hair out of your eyes. “Some kinds of bonds take longer to break,” she says. “I’m so sorry he hurt you like that, Dave.”

Wow, you _so_ do not want to talk about Bro right now.

“So how long are my heats gonna be this shitty, then?” you say, trying to control your shivers.

Rose purses her lips in that way you’ve already come to learn means “I have bad news, but I don’t want to tell it to you.”

“Rose,” you say, feeling your heart rate speed up. “Oh god, Rose, please don’t tell me -”

“I don’t know,” she admits. “I don’t know enough about your bond. This could be the last time. Or, well. It could be years, if this is a true trauma bond.”

You’re too tired from your heat and too shocked at her potential timescale to clarify what a “trauma bond” is, although you think you might have heard the phrase before in, like, history class or something.

But. Fucking _years_ of this shit. You groan aloud at the thought.

“I’m sorry,” she says, for the millionth time since your heat started.

You cover your face with your hands and drag them slowly down your cheeks. “It’s not your goddamn fault,” you say.

It’s _yours_ , for ever letting your Bro mate you.

“I was clearly speaking out of commiseration rather than apology, but I suppose I can’t ask someone in your delicate state to pick up on subtle nuances like that,” Rose says, drily. It’s enough to make you crack half a smile.

“Yeah, come on, Rose,” you say. “I’m a fucking invalid Omega, here. You’ve got to talk to me like I’m four years old, because I’m clearly too dumb to handle anything else.”

Her lips curl down at your joke, and you feel your own cool half-smile starting to falter in the face of her disapproval. Rose is your pack leader, even if she’s not your mate, and the idea of her _disapproving_ of you makes you want to shrink with shame.

She sighs very deliberately, relaxing her face into a smooth mask of calm. “Dave,” she says, in a perfectly flat tone of voice that is laced with the tense undercurrent of some emotion you can’t put a name to. You can smell the little hints of frustration and anger turning her flowery scent dark and smokey.

You’re not in heat anymore, but you’re sweating and aching from the need to be with your bondmate, and you keep talking about the bond and implicitly talking about your Bro. So you figure he’s been on your mind a lot, and you’re likely to start seeing him just about anywhere.

That’s the only explanation you can think of for the way your breath suddenly catches in your chest, why you go as utterly still as a corpse, not daring to twitch a muscle, because suddenly, Rose reminds you of _him._

Sour fear floods your own scent like raw sewage dumping into the sea.

“Dave?” Rose looks sharply down at you, her eyes widening. The smoke in her scent is replaced by the tang of worry.

“I’m fine,” you say, feeling like your mouth is working without your input. You’re unsure if the sweat you’re producing is still _only_ due to withdrawal, or if there’s some panic in there, too. The shaking in your limbs feels like it’s tripled.

“You’re really not,” Rose says quietly, gently.

It’s very hard to breathe. You seem to be only taking in shallow, rapid pants.

Rose lays a hand on your face and scent-marks you. “Dave, it’s okay,” she says. “You’re safe. Breathe. No one’s going to hurt you. I’m sorry. Breathe with me.”

You feel like you spend half your time with Rose just trying to breathe right for her. Under her patient instruction, you eventually get yourself under control again.

“That’s the second time I’ve triggered a panic attack in you,” she says, when your breathing is regular again. “I’m sorry.”

“S’not your fault,” you mutter.

“Well, except that this time, it actually is,” she says, half-joking and half-sad. “Do you know why it happened? So that I don’t do this to you again?”

You close your eyes. “I don’t know,” you say. “I guess you just… for a second there you reminded me of…”

She knows. She _has_ to know. There’s really only one person who can possibly be your mate, and she even voiced it first, in the aftermath of your last heat. You shouldn’t have trouble talking about it, saying it, _admitting_ that you got fucked by your own goddamn brother.

The slimy sense of shame tastes like a slug in your mouth, and you can’t quite get it out.

Rose takes pity on you and finishes your sentence for you. “I reminded you of your bondmate,” she says, and there’s so much pain in her voice and her scent it makes you want to cry.

“It’s not your fault,” you say. “It’s really fucking not, it’s - my brain’s just a mess, Rose, you didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Be that as it may, if you do know what I did, I’d like you to tell me,” she says. “I don’t like seeing you like this, Dave.”

“I don’t, either,” you mutter, under your breath. Then, mustering up every ounce of courage you have in your shaking body, you say, “He used to - when he got angry, I mean - his face would just go… flat. Like he didn’t have any emotions at all, even though I could smell he was really fucking pissed. A bit ago you went all - all _calm_ , but you still smelled mad, and...”

Rose makes a noise of understanding and cradles your head against her. “I see,” she says. “I’m sorry. It’s - sort of an instinct, holding back the negative emotions. I’ll try not to let it happen again.”

You can feel tears tingling at the corners of your eyes, because Rose is offering to change her behavior for you, just to make you feel more comfortable, over some dumb little hang-up you have.

“I don’t want to be a bother,” you say, and it comes out like a confession, a private shame whispered in her ear, an admission of weakness.

You feel like the world’s most pathetic Omega.

“You’re not a bother, Dave,” Rose says. “You may frequently be a pain in my ass, but you’re never a bother.”

You try to smirk at the joke, but you think you end up with a facial expression a bit closer to a wince. Either way, Rose rubs the top of your head with both hands, and her scent washes over you, calming and safe.

You’re so fucking glad she’s your pack. You’re so fucking glad that she’s your sister. You love her so fucking much, and you can tell - in every word and action - that she loves you right back.

It’s amazing, impossible, how much she loves you. But you can’t deny it. If she didn’t love you, she wouldn’t hold you like this while you’re shaking and sweaty. She wouldn’t ask you if you want a cup of coffee when you walk into the kitchen in the morning, or spend so much time with you, laughing and smiling and scent-marking you, indicating in every possible way that she cares. She definitely wouldn’t hold you calmly as you cry and shake and beg for her to mate you.

Rose loves you, and it’s weird, living your life _knowing_ that you are loved, that someone finds you worthy of love.

And you’re starting to suspect that the reason it feels so weird to be loved is that Bro… didn’t.

That thought is raw and painful, like the bloody stump of a missing tooth that’s been yanked out of your mouth, so you don’t touch it, let it fall back into the depths of your mind so you don’t have to think about it.

Instead you just relax your head into Rose's lap and take comfort in her fragrant scent and the gentle rhythm of her breath.

You’re loved, and it feels fantastic.


	8. Movie Knights

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dave and Karkat keep meeting accidentally in the middle of the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i can't believe i've never seen ANYONE make a "movie knights" pun in this fandom before? either i'm way out of touch with the fandom or we really just didn't fucking see it. (i didn't see it until i made a fucking typo and went WAIT A FUCKING SECOND)
> 
> also please forgive the fantroll names i did my best to come up with dumb weird puns.
> 
> CHAPTER WARNINGS: None.

You didn’t really intend for movie nights to become a thing.

But you are finding it increasingly difficult to sleep for any decent length of time. You weren’t exactly a sound sleeper before the game began, and you keep having nightmares where hundreds and hundreds of dead-eyed Daves reach out to you with blood on their hands. That, or the recurring nightmare you’ve had since you were ten, where you’re in heat and Bro drives his sword through your chest as he plunges his knot into you.

Setting aside your fucked up death nightmares, the point is, you don’t really sleep a ton. Most nights when you wake up sweating and wanting to scream, you just fuck around in your room, draw a shittier-than-normal Sweet Bro and Hella Jeff, sample the sound of the fan coming through the vent, work a little more on a mix you’ve been messing with for a few weeks.

But some nights, your room starts to feel cold and oppressive, and even your nest seems like an easy place to get trapped. On those nights, you head out to the common room, just to get a change of scenery.

And every one of those nights, without fail, Karkat is out there with his weird purple bugtop, watching some shitty romcom. _Brokeback Mountain_ is the only movie you’ve caught him with that wasn’t an obvious chick flick. You don’t even have to know a goddamn thing about Alternia to know that even the troll movies he watches are melodramatic garbage.

But for some goddamn reason, every time you find him there, you end up sitting down on the couch and snarkily commenting on the “action” until he has a conniption and throws a pillow at you, shrieking at you to shut up and just watch the fucking movie, you shit-stained nookmunch.

You have a feeling his insults would be rather creative, if you had any frame of reference at _all_ for what he’s talking about.

The human movies are unmistakable trash, and you don’t pay a lot of attention to them except to riff on how clueless all the characters are. On the other hand, the troll stuff, while also garbage, is just far enough out of your own cultural milieu that you’re a little intrigued, and you end up paying closer attention.

“Wait, okay, back up,” you say, during what’s probably your seventh or eighth unofficial movie night. “The music cue there just got all ominous. Why was that a bad thing?”

Karkat rolls his eyes at you, like this is incredibly obvious. “Oh, I don’t know, because she just implied she wants to have sex with Ocella, maybe?”

You look blankly at him. “Which one’s Ocella?” you say.

“The _protagonist_ ,” Karkat growls at you.

“And that would be…?”

Karkat throws up his hands in frustration. “The green-blooded girl with the squared-off horns? The one who’s being courted by the pretentious blue-blood and the self-effacing gold?”

You frown. “Hang on a second. I thought Ocella and this Courtney chick—”

“Cordys,” Karkat corrects with a growl.

“Yeah okay, whatever, I thought they were already together? I swear they’ve been getting all googly-eyed at each other.”

“Cordys is Ocella’s _moirail_ , dumbass.”

“You say that like it has any kind of meaning to me.”

“I _know_ you know what moirail means, Dave! You used it correctly _three nights ago_ when we were watching _In Which A Young Highblood—”_

“Yeah, yeah, okay, fine,” you say, because you don’t want him to tell you the whole fucking title, or otherwise you’ll be here forever. “So they’re in the bros quadrant and Cordys wants to push it to the fuck quadrant. What’s the big deal?”

“The big deal is, we know that Cordys was auspisticizing between Ocella and Premas before Premas died. Which means Cordys has had Ocella in two quadrants already and wants her in a third, which is a huge red flag in these situations. It’s a clue to her obsession with Ocella and foreshadowing for her eventual spiral into villainy, which is why it gets the musical sting.”

“Whoa, dude, really?” you say. Normally you’d rag on him for spoilers, not because you care but because he always gets flustered about accidentally spoiling you, but… “Man, that’s a twist.”

“No it’s not?” Karkat gives you a look. “Honestly, Cordys being the true villain is a huge cliche, she’s an obvious obsessive moirail stereotype. I mostly like this movie because the black-pale vacillation between Hetter and Ocella after Cordys shows her true colors is really well done.”

“But she’s so nice all the time?” you say. “She’s always looking out for Ocella. I thought that was what moirails are supposed to do?”

“Yeah, but not at the expense of all her other quadrants!” Karkat says. “She’s so fucking focused on Ocella that she hasn’t found a matesprit or a kismesis for more than just a quick fling before the drones come around in _five sweeps_. That’s fucking _ridiculous_.”

Karkat is clearly angry, which you once thought was the base state of Karkat. Now you’ve spent enough time with the guy to know that it’s less anger and more disgruntled frustration. There are subtleties to the anger he displays - there’s a difference between him shouting at a boring and badly-written human movie, and shouting at you for being a dick about it.

This is… you think you’d call it _seething_ , if you had to pick a word to describe it.

He seems - genuinely upset at this movie, or you guess specifically at the character in the movie. There’s something about the clench of his jaw, the set line of his mouth, the tightness in the skin around his eyes, that makes you think he’s really worked up about the whole thought of that kind of obsessiveness.

Usually, when Karkat goes off on a character or trope rant, you make fun of him for it. But you’ve never seen him like this before, and something tells you poking at this wouldn’t result in the fun kind of argument.

You shrug instead. “Okay, man, if you say so.”

The rest of the movie plays out pretty much exactly like he said it would. Cordys goes nuts and kidnaps Echene, threatening to kill him for stealing Ocella away from her. Ocella ends up going to Hetter because even though she hates him, he’s the only person she knows who’s strong enough to deal with Cordys’s psychic abilities. Hetter agrees, but over the course of working with her, figures out that he actually cares about Ocella’s well-being and they start having totally non-sequitur conversations about their feelings.

(Those scenes are especially entertaining because Karkat blushes and squirms on the couch and gets totally flustered, which is hilariously similar to how he’d reacted to the sex scenes in Brokeback Mountain.)

When Cordys goes stark raving bonkers and decides to murder Ocella because if she can’t have her, _no one_ can, Hetter shows up last minute and kills her, saving the day. The movie ends with a cheesy shot of Hetter and Ocella standing in front of the setting moon, their hands around each other’s waists.

Yeah, okay, you pay a _lot_ of attention to the troll stuff you watch, but in your defense, your average troll romcom has more blood and gore than some human slasher movies.

When the movie ends, you expect Karkat to go into one of his reviews/tirades, where he picks apart every good and bad bit about the movie until your brain feels like it’s spilling out your ears and you’re tired enough to fall asleep again.

Instead, there’s a pretty long moment of silence, and you turn to look at him from underneath your shades.

Karkat’s eyelids are half closed, and he’s slumped in his seat, breathing slow and deep. His head keeps falling forward, only to be jerked back up again. Like this, he looks incredibly vulnerable, and you can see the huge dark bruises under his eyes, which half-remind you of how _you_ tend to look after a bad heat.

Every night you’ve come wandering out here in a fit of insomnia, you’ve found Karkat on the couch, watching a movie.

It’s kind of surprising that this is the first time you’ve wondered when exactly Karkat sleeps.

Scooting a little closer, you reach out and nudge him gently in the ribs.

Karkat starts, flailing a hand out. It slams into your nose, and the stinging pain makes you rear back, clutching your face. There’s a long moment of Karkat panting harshly, eyes wide, staring at you in unrecognizing terror, looking like he wants nothing more than to run.

You’ve startled Karkat when he’s alert and awake, but he’s never seemed really frightened before. You don’t think _anyone_ has ever been frightened of you like this. It makes you... uncomfortable.

“Jesus, man,” you say, turning away from him, breaking the creepy eye contact and massaging your nose. “Do you always hit so hard?”

It takes a second before he finally seems to recognize you and gathers his words. “Well, I wouldn’t have if you didn’t _poke_ me, bulgemunch.” The line would sound confident and snarky if it weren’t for the shaky, hesitant way he delivers it.

“I was just waking you up so you can go sleep in your actual bed or slime pod or whatever you weirdos sleep in,” you say.

“I’m fine,” Karkat says. “I don’t need you telling me what to do, Strider.”

“Dude, the bags under your eyes are so big that Delta would charge you fifty bucks and make you check them in the cargo hold,” you say.

Karkat opens his mouth in what is clearly about to be an oft-repeated rant about your obscure human references, but you cut him off at the pass. “Seriously, Karkat, when was the last time you slept?”

“Yesterday,” Karkat says, crossing his arms defensively over his chest.

“For more than an hour at a time?”

“That’s none of your fucking business,” he snaps.

“I know,” you say. “I know it's not my business, dude, it's just... Look, I’ll drop it if you want me to, but you look really tired, and I’m a little concerned.”

Karkat deflates, going from a puffed-up ball of anger to a limp balloon. He looks even more exhausted like this, his eyelids sliding shut.

“I can’t,” he says.

And it really is none of your fucking business, but… “Nightmares?”

He nods and swallows visibly. “Trolls don’t need much sleep,” he says. “I’ll be fine.”

The two of you sit in silence a minute. You pick at the edge of your cape, fidgeting.

“Okay,” you say. “So this is possibly the most hypocritical thing I’ve ever said in my life, but… If you ever want to talk about it…”

Eyes still closed, Karkat shakes his head.

You sigh and nod. “Yeah, I figured.”

After another few seconds of silence, you say, “You wanna watch another movie?”

He nods and leans forward to his computer, pulling up another troll movie. The opening music starts, and you realize you recognize it from one of your previous midnight meet-ups. You both settle in as the hero saunters across the screen, about to literally run into the matesprit of his dreams.

Ten minutes later, Karkat begins snoring softly.

You reach over and close the lid of his laptop, shutting off the movie. You watch him sleep for a minute, and you think about going back to your own room, but that feels a little bit like abandoning him, leaving him alone and unprotected.

So you fold your arms over your chest, slouch a little bit further down on your end of the couch, and let your eyelids slip closed.

You’ll be here tomorrow, when he wakes up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> dumb weird pun names: they're all based on various kinds of symbiotic species. Ocella is based on _Amphiprion ocellaris,_ the Latin name for the Finding Nemo species of clownfish. Hetter is based on _Heteractis,_ one of the genii of sea anemones that clownfish often become mutualist symbionts with. Premas is based on _Premnas,_ another genus of clownfish. Echene is based on _Echeneidae,_ the family that covers all remora fish. And, of course, Cordys is based on _Cordyceps,_ a famous genus of mind-controlling parasitic fungi.


	9. Bad Memory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dave fucking hates dream bubbles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm fucking ecstatic that we've finally gotten to this chapter. I've been waiting for this moment for ages.
> 
> CHAPTER WARNINGS: Flashback, emotional flashback, panic attack, additional warnings may apply but they're spoilers for this chapter.

You fucking hate dream bubbles.

You wake up on the cold floor of the bathroom in your old apartment, and you’re irritated that you can’t tell whether you’re _awake_ awake or just _dreaming_ you’re awake. You never can, which means you’re never certain whether dying in the dream means you’ll die in real life.

You groan, low and frustrated, and sit up, glaring hatefully around the cramped bathroom. Now that you have access to an actual decent-sized bathroom, you’ve come to resent this crappy shithole more and more. Your eyes land on the dirty mirror, the cracked porcelain of the sink, the puppet you can half-see hanging in the shower.

There’s also a small pink cardboard box on the back of the toilet, already open.

Ice slides up your back, grabs your hindbrain and freezes you in place as you stare at it in horror.

No. 

No, no, _fuck_ no, you are _not_ reliving this memory.

You stand, finding that your arms and legs are shaking. Your breath is already coming faster, and your eyes dart around, looking for an _escape,_ for a way out, fuck, you can’t live this memory again, any memory but this, hell, you’ll trade this one for a hundred memories of getting your ass beat or knotted if it means you don’t have to live through _this_ twice.

There’s a rustling sound on the other side of the bathroom door, followed by the metallic clatter of swords banging together, and you suck in a breath, the sour fear in your scent turning into something rotten and disgusting.

Dream Bubble Bro is just that - a dream, a memory. He’s solid enough to knot your cunt or throw you across the rooftop, but he doesn’t ever speak, apart from the things you remember him saying before, but your memory is apparently kinda shitty, because you almost never hear him say anything at all.

In the original memory, he didn’t come to the bathroom. You went to him, like the stupid fucking idiot you are, and told him. The punishment you got afterward was your own goddamn fault, because you weren’t supposed to leave the apartment. You’re the dumbass who stole money from his wallet and snuck out and bought the box because you _needed_ it, you had to _know_ , and it was possibly the worst mistake you ever made.

You don’t remember Bro coming to the bathroom, but dream bubbles have this horrible way of smashing memories together in nightmarish conglomerations of all your worst, most painful moments. Your stomach roils, and you swallow hard, trying to keep it down, and god, he’s right there, he’s right on the other side of that door, and he’s going to kill you, he’s going to fucking kill you, you’re dead already.

The pounding on the door makes your heart leap into your throat, and you want to scream, but all you can do is gasp.

“Dave, are you in there? What the fuck is going on?”

You’ve never felt more relieved to hear Karkat’s hoarse, irritated tones in your entire fucking life. As far as you’re concerned, those two sentences are the beginning of the most beautiful song in the entire fucking world. Choirs of angels could not be sweeter than Karkat Vantas is in this moment.

“Yeah, hang on a sec,” you say, hoping your shaky relief doesn't reflect in your voice but fairly certain it does.

You stand, unlock the door, and open it to the absolutely goddamn gorgeous sight of Karkat Vantas’s grumpy face.

You almost never have to actually relive your memories when someone else is in the dream bubble with you.

“What the fuck is up with your weird fucking hive?” Karkat says without preamble. “Why are there all these creepy fucking puppets everywhere? What’s with all the explosives in your meal block? Why are there _swords_ in your fucking hunger trunk?”

“Dude, were you snooping through my stuff?” you say.

“No!” His face screams _yes_. You just raise an eyebrow at him.

“I wasn’t _snooping_ ,” Karkat says defensively. “I just found myself in a hive that looks like it was infested with some kind of horrible puppet-spawning abomination and was trying to find a way to get the fuck _out_.”

“So you opened my refrigerator?”

“Dream bubbles are weird!” he shouts. “It _might_ have opened incongruously onto somebody else’s hive! Like my own! How was I supposed to know that it was a tortuous death machine filled with the shittiest goddamn swords known to trollkind?”

“They _are_ pretty shitty swords, huh.”

“Getting back to my fucking point!” Karkat jabs his finger at you with such force that it almost pokes out the lens of your shades. You take a step backward to dodge it.

“You have got to be more careful with those claws, you nearly took out my eye there.”

 _“WHAT IS GOING ON HERE,”_ Karkat shrieks.

You shrug. “I dunno, man, it’s dream bubble, I didn't have anything to do with it,” you say. “And if you were looking for an exit, this isn’t it, it’s the bathroom.”

Karkat peers over your shoulder. “ _That’s_ your ablution block?” he says. “That’s the tiniest, shittiest ablution block I have ever seen.”

“If you’re expecting me to defend my bathroom to you, you’re barking up the wrong tree, because I fucking agree with you,” you say. “It’s a cramped, shitty bathroom. Let’s move on.”

“What’s pregnancy?” Karkat says.

Your heart fucking stops.

“What?” you say, your lips numb.

“The box,” he says, pointing, and even from here you can see the loopy cursive lines of the words _Pregnancy Test_. “What’s pregnancy, and why would you be tested on it, and why would you take it while sitting on the goddamn loadgaper?”

You can feel your face shutting down. Your mouth presses into a thin, hard line, and your eyebrows lower until they’re hidden behind your shades. He can’t see your eyes, but even if he could, they’d be shuttered and lifeless, giving away absolutely nothing.

“Dave?” Karkat says.

“No,” you say.

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean? That’s not an answer to any of my questions, it’s just—”

“No, I’m not explaining _shit_ to you,” you say, shoving past him.

“Wow, rude much?” Karkat says. “First you cut me off, and then you _push_ me—”

“You said you wanted to find a way out of here,” you say, brusquely. You grab him by the front of his shirt and drag him away from the bathroom. “So here’s the goddamned exit, let’s go.”

You expect him to say something to the effect of “Get your filthy human touchstubs off me, you sanctimonious bulge scrub.”

But at first, he doesn’t say anything, letting you manhandle him through your apartment until you reach the front door. You pull it open with so much force that it bangs into the wall, deepening the dent that’s been there ever since you can remember. Without further ado, you shove him into the hallway and go to slam it shut.

Karkat slaps his hand on the door and steps forward, preventing you from closing it. You’re momentarily taken aback by his strength, which forces you backward.

“Dave,” he says, a bit quieter and a _lot_ less exasperated. He looks up at your face as if trying to make eye contact through the shades, and a tiny frown line appears between his eyebrows. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fucking fine,” you say.

“No, you’re not,” Karkat says, and you laugh.

It’s ugly and sharp, like the jagged edge of a broken sword, almost more like a snarl than laughter. Karkat’s frown deepens, and he steps further forward, pushing the door back open. You find that you don’t have the strength to keep him out, and then you realize that your harsh laughs have transformed into desperate gasps for air you don’t seem to have.

“Oh, fuck,” Karkat says, but you’re not listening, too focused on huddling in on yourself, dropping to your knees, trying to breath without dying.

You don’t even know why you’re spiraling like this, it’s not even that big a deal, you’re fine, you’re fucking fine, you won’t even have to actually relive the day you staggered out of the bathroom up to the futon clutching those two little white sticks and told Bro in trembling desperation that you were fucking _pregnant_.

The goddamn bastard had been more focused on you sneaking out of the apartment than he had been about the fact that you were carrying a litter of his incestuous pups. The savagery of your subsequent beating was possibly the worst of your entire life.

You're pretty sure that ass-kicking is the reason you lost the pregnancy.

A questioning hand tentatively brushes your face, fingers pressing against your temple.

It feels like someone trying to scent-mark you, and you lean into the touch, unsure whether you’re trying to placate the Alpha who wants to fucking own you, or seeking comfort in the arms of your pack, or maybe a little bit of both.

But you don’t feel the familiar sensation of scent washing over you, mingling with your own - you can’t smell anything other than yourself and the faint memory of Bro lingering in the apartment. You whine in frustration and press harder into that hand, looking up.

Karkat’s face is a mask of panicked confusion, though he gently rubs his thumb back and forth across your cheekbone. “Shh, Dave,” he says, and his voice is surprisingly soft and soothing for a guy who spends ninety percent of his day shouting. “Shh, it’s okay.”

By this point, you’ve watched enough of his romcoms to know that he’s pacifying you.

This is super fucking embarrassing, but you can’t stop yourself from taking comfort in the touch. You shudder, taking in a deep breath, and lower your head so that you can’t see his eyes anymore. Karkat keeps petting your head and shushing you softly, and he can’t mark you with his scent because he doesn’t _have_ one, but it still works to calm you.

Even after you finally get your breathing back under control, you sit there in silence for a minute as Karkat continues to stroke his fingers through your hair. You find yourself leaning part of your weight on him, and he takes it without a word, bracing you.

Then the dream bubble ripples and wavers, tears, and shreds itself to pieces around you, leaving the two of you kneeling on the cold floor of the hallway outside your room on the meteor.

As if by mutual agreement, you and Karkat break away from each other at the same time. You get to your feet quickly, brushing imaginary dust off your pants. He stands as well, a bit more slowly than you, and turns away from you. That suits you just fine.

“Don’t - don’t tell anyone about this, okay?” you say.

“No, of course not,” he says, a bit hurriedly.

“So uh,” you say. “We’re not like, troll diamonds married or something now, are we?”

“What? No!” Karkat says, absolutely aghast. “This was - I was just trying to help out, it was just a spur-of-the-moment comfort session, you’re not my _moirail_ , that’d be - no, absolutely not.”

“Okay, good,” you say, because even though you were pretty sure that was the case, you didn’t want to have accidentally missed something, somehow. “How would you feel if we just pretend like it never even happened?”

“Like what never happened?” he says, innocently.

“Yeah,” you say. “Okay. Good to know we’re on the same page.”

There’s a beat of silence, and the two of you split up, heading opposite directions down the hallway. You’re not too far away from your own room, and you almost collapse onto your bed, curling up into the pillows and blankets that make up your nest with your hands wrapped around your stomach.

You’re fine. You’re awesome. You are just fucking _peachy-keen_.

You really fucking hate dream bubbles, though.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SOOOOOOO I'VE BEEN SITTING ON THIS REVEAL FOR LIKE. _MONTHS._
> 
> I actually wrote out the entire scene where Dave tells Bro he's pregnant back in like, January or February, and it's been informing a lot of my Dave and Davesprite characterization for this series. I almost posted it, before I decided the pacing worked better if Dave's pregnancy was more of a surprise, and also because it's basically just a couple thousand words of Bro being horrifically violent and Dave panicking. I'm still debating whether I want to post it as its own separate fic or not - please let me know in the comments if you're interested!


	10. Bringing It Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dave swears he isn't avoiding Karkat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CHAPTER WARNINGS: None.

You don’t - you don’t exactly _avoid_ Karkat for the next few days, because you pretty much only see him in the middle of the night when your insomnia gets the better of you anyway. So choosing to stay in your own room when the nightmares won’t let you sleep can’t _actually_ be called avoidance. It’s just. Keeping to yourself. Trying to practice good sleep hygiene. Minding your own damn business.

As for the rest of your routine, you try to keep it fairly consistent. You spend most days trying not to be the third-wheel between Rose and Kanaya, which usually means you end up in Can Town with the Mayor. Your artistic talents are starting to become fairly deeply integrated into the metal municipality, which sparks a little bit of pride in your chest, even though you’ve been drawing deliberately shitty, like you always do.

Sometimes Terezi stops by, but she’s almost always accompanied by Vriska, who thinks Can Town is “a w8ste of time for dum8 wigglers” so they don’t ever stick around long, and you’re not particularly inclined to hang out casually with fucking Vriska. Usually you stay here, where it’s just you and the Mayor and a bunch of empty tin cans.

Which is fine. You still see Rose for pack cuddling every couple of days, and your skin absolutely does _not_ itch in the meantime with the desire to be touched and held because you’re not that desperate and clingy, Bro trained that shit out of you years ago. If you feel a sense of restless unease it’s probably just the creepy emptiness of the meteor getting to you.

One day, as you’re graffitiing up the seedier areas of Can Town, Karkat marches into the room, making a beeline for you. He’s carrying his buggy little laptop clutched tight to his chest.

Without a word, he plops down next to you on the ground, close enough that his knee brushes your thigh, and sets the computer in front of him, snapping the lid open. He navigates through some folders until he finds what looks like yet another one of his shitty romcoms.

“Dude,” you say, staring at him. “What the hell?”

“I need you to explain the human bullshit in this movie,” he says, pulling up - god is this movie in black and white?What the fuck. Who even watches black and white movies anymore?

“What the fuck, dude?” you say. “No, I’m not fucking explaining some ancient movie to you, why would I do that?”

“Because you love hearing the sound of your own voice and acting smugly superior, that’s why,” Karkat says, snidely.

“Not enough to watch _this_ shit with you,” you say, gesturing at the screen.

Karkat rolls his eyes. “Look, the Alternian version is _far_ superior,” he says, loudly. “Troll Katherine Hepburn’s relationship to her unruly lusus and the stuffy blue-blooded paleontologist are much more compelling than your stupid humans muddling around wildly.” He pauses, and then says, “Earth’s version of Cary Grant is pretty handsome, though. For a human, I mean.”

“Gay,” you say, and Karkat elbows you hard in the ribs. “I’ve never even heard of this movie,” you continue, as if he hadn’t. “What the fuck makes you think I can explain it?”

“Because there’s a lot of dumb cultural minutiae that I don’t understand yet because humans are _idiots_ and your romantic tropes are simultaneously ridiculously convoluted and mind-numbingly repetitive.”

“Are you _still_ going on about the Alpha-Omega thing?” you say. “Because I swear I’ve explained it to you a dozen times.”

“Yeah, okay, but Katherine Hepburn’s a _Beta_ and we haven’t really got into that…”

So you actually watch the movie with him. Every few minutes he asks some dumb question about human culture, like why Katherine Hepburn’s pet leopard is such an outlier in the story (“You have already have cats, I don’t see what the big deal is about a slightly larger one”), why her aunt is so disapproving and what’s up with Cary Grant’s other romantic interest, and you have to re-explain the concept of marriage and sex outside of marriage to him for like the millionth time.

However, despite his frequent interruptions, you’re pleasantly surprised to find that it’s a genuinely funny movie. You find yourself snorting with laughter at moments here and there, and frankly, the slapstick timing is on point. Also, Karkat’s right. Cary Grant is pretty handsome.

Karkat claims this is a double standard, and you exasperatedly explain to him (also for the millionth time) that Cary Grant’s an Alpha, so it’s _not_ actually gay for you to be attracted to him.

“I just don’t see why gender has to factor in to fucking romance,” Karkat grouses. “If it’s serendipity, it’s serendipity, who the fuck cares what fucking gender they are?”

“I mean, it’s all, like, reproduction and stuff,” you say. “Two Alpha dudes can’t make babies together.”

For some reasons, Karkat freezes, and then looks at you like he’s trying to look through you to the wall behind you.

_Oh fuck,_ you think. _He totally went and looked up what pregnancy means._

Fucking shit. You brace for a barrage of questions you don’t know how to answer.

But instead of asking you why you thought you were pregnant or who put his pups inside you, after a long pause Karkat says, “Well, that’s not true, because two Omega men can have babies, and you still consider that gay.”

It takes you a second to register what he just said, and then you kinda stare at him. “Uh, well, yeah, but…” you say, trailing off without a good comeback.

Karkat frowns in confusion. “Actually, there are a lot of quote-unquote “gay” relationships that are perfectly capable of having children,” he says. “Granted, I think your reproductive organs are downright fucking byzantine as well as nonsensical, but I understand enough of it to know that your ridiculous human hang-ups about so-called gay relationships can’t possibly be exclusively related to progeny.”

“Look,” you start, and then stop.

Karkat flashes you a self-righteous grin of triumph. “Ha!” he says. “Just admit it, Dave. Earth had pan-rottingly _stupid_ rules about gender in romance, full of contradictions and double standards. They don’t make _any_ sense.”

“Listen, I didn’t say it was a _bad_ thing to be gay,” you say. “I’m just not gay. I’m allowed to like Cary Grant.”

“But there you go again,” Karkat says, gesturing at you. “What do you mean, you’re allowed to like Cary Grant? You’re allowed to like anyone you want! You can like Neil Patrick Harris too!”

“Okay, but I _don’t_ like Neil Patrick Harris,” you say.

“But you’d be _allowed_ to if you did,” Karkat insists. “Nobody on this fucking meteor cares about the gay shit. Rose is together with Kanaya, and the rest of us are all trolls and think your gender fetish is a pile of pure fucking hoofbeast manure.”

“I know you know the word bullshit, dude,” you say.

Karkat rolls his eyes. “You know what, fine, I don’t care, deflect all you want,” he says. “This doesn’t even matter to me, I don’t care if you’re still obsessed with delineating who’s allowed to be in your quadrants via gender, I’m not going to fucking dictate your romantic pursuits, Dave. I just want you to stop calling every little fucking thing gay.”

“Fine,” you say. “Your massive man-crush on Cary Grant isn’t gay. Happy?”

“Hardly, but at least it’s a fucking start.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: I went through Rotten Tomatoes' list of top 200 romcoms. Literally the _only_ one I've seen other than The Princess Bride and Enchanted is Bringing Up Baby. I do not share Karkat's love of romcoms in the _slightest._ I couldn't even actually get all the way through Love Actually when I tried to watch it that one time.


	11. Diamonds are...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dave and Karkat encounter another nightmarish dream bubble.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And finally, I've got another chapter to post!
> 
> Thank you all _so much_ for your patience with me! Between working on projects for potential employment, difficulty with plot and character voice, and losing my laptop for over a week as I was getting it repaired, I just haven't been able to work on this fic much.
> 
> That said, I finally have my R key all fixed, which means the physical act of writing the fic is a _hell_ of a lot easier on me! Hopefully I can work out the plotting kinks and things will run a bit more smoothly.
> 
> I hope you all enjoy this chapter!
> 
> CHAPTER WARNINGS: Panic attacks, internalized homophobia

So, you’ve stopped avoiding Karkat.

 _Not_ that you were ever actually avoiding him in the first place. You were just doing your own thing for a little while, that’s all, it’s not that weird to not wander into the common room and watch shitty alien romcoms every goddamn night.

So what you really mean is - you’ve been spending a lot more time with Karkat in the past few months.

It’s not just the Insomniacs Anonymous Film Club anymore. For the first few weeks he’d come find you in Can Town in the middle of the day and make you explain some human movie to him, and then you started going over to his room (oh, sorry _“respiteblock”_ ) when you got bored, just to hang out and chat about nonsense and also maybe watch some shitty Alternian romcoms. You’ve watched a hell of a lot more romcoms in the past year than you had in your entire life - hell, you’ve watched more romcoms than you even knew _existed._

Man. It’s crazy that you’re actually coming up on the one-year anniversary of starting this shitty trip in the first place.

You’re on your way to Karkat’s room for another hangout session when the dream bubble slams into the meteor.

There’s no warning. One minute, you’re walking down a familiar dim corridor, and the next you’re outside under a night sky lit by two colorful moons, a few feet from a tall, dark building. The change in scenery is so abrupt it’s a little disorienting, and you sway slightly on your feet in reaction, taking it all in.

You’re standing in a strange little alien neighborhood, with a dozen or so houses in the cul-de-sac. The night air is cool and sharp, and there’s a faintly threatening metallic smell of blood on the breeze. In front of you is a bizarre structure that looks like it was built by a drunk guy haphazardly slapping boxes together. You know, without really knowing _why_ you know, it belongs to Karkat.

In the distance, just beyond the end of the neighborhood, something huge looms. It takes you a minute to comprehend what you’re looking at, because the thing is absolutely fucking _massive._ It’s as tall as a five-story building, with a roughly humanoid shape, though odd spikes jut out from its shoulders and its arms are as thick around as a school bus. The gigantic contraption takes a huge, earth-shaking step in your direction, and you feel your heart start to beat faster.

You _still_ don’t know if you die in real life if you get killed when your physical body is passing through a dream bubble.

Fuck. You have to get to Karkat.

You don’t even hesitate as you go for what is presumably the front door and you thank the fucking horror terrors that it is miraculously unlocked. You burst inside, pulling the door quickly shut behind you and hoping whatever that _thing_ is didn’t see you.

You’re breathing so hard in the silence that you almost don’t hear the _second_ set of harsh pants.

You turn, and standing stock-still at the top of the stairs is Karkat. His yellow eyes are wide, staring at you with stark terror. Even from across the room, you can see that his entire body is shaking. A dark grey blanket covers him like a shroud, and he curls it tighter around himself as he gasps and trembles.

Seeing Karkat so scared of you is even more uncomfortable now than it was that time a few months ago when you accidentally woke him up. You don’t _want_ Karkat to fear you.

Then there’s a thunderous _boom_ that shakes the whole house, and you know that the enormous thing out there just took a step closer to you.

Something changes in Karkat’s expression. He’s still terrified half out of his wits, you can tell - but he’s not looking at _you_ in unseeing horror anymore. It’s the thing outside that’s got him running scared.

And run he does, darting down the stairs, grabbing your hand, and then dragging you deeper into the house. You stumble after him as he tugs you along, before he stops, crouching down in the center of a room. He grabs the edge of a concealed trapdoor - you hadn’t even noticed it was there - and flings it open.

The shallow pit beneath looks uncomfortably like a grave.

Karkat nudges you forward wordlessly, and, a bit hesitant, you step down into it. Karkat follows immediately, pulling you to lie down on the ground, chest-to-chest, as he wraps the blanket around you both. Then the trap door swings shut.

The darkness is absolute.

The pit is too narrow for two adolescents to lay down in comfortably, so you’re pressed against each other, squeezed together in the tight space. You can feel Karkat shaking throughout your whole body, buzzing like a snare drum resonating with the bass. His breath bursts against the side of your neck, hot and rapid as he pants.

Karkat is terrified.

You don’t know why that _bothers_ you so much. Something inside you insists that Karkat shouldn’t be scared like this- that he deserves _better_ than this. Your chest aches for him, the way it aches when Rose smells disappointed in you. You don’t know why the idea of Karkat being frightened and alone makes your heart clench so bad.

But… he’s not alone, is he?

You’ve seen enough of his movies to know what to do. And it wasn’t all that long ago that you were panicking in a dream bubble, too.

So you reach up to smooth your hand across his forehead, and you smell the burst of strawberries and honey as you scent-mark him. “Shh,” you whisper. “Shh.”

If he were human, his scent would have washed back over you in return, because with every gentle rub of your hands across his face, you would have been stimulating his scent glands. This is - this could have formed the beginnings of a pack bond between the two of you.

Karkat isn’t human, and he doesn’t smell like anything, and he doesn’t have scent glands, and he doesn’t mark you back.

But you still feel like you’re claiming him as pack.

As you run your hands over his face and through his hair, murmuring comforting nonsense, you can feel his shuddering begin to subside. You can’t see him in the pitch darkness, so you don’t know if he’s still wide-eyed with panic, but you hope that’s a good sign. After a few moments of petting and scent-marking, Karkat lets out a shaky sigh and buries his face into the junction of your neck and shoulder.

Right above your mating scar.

Your first, instinctive reaction is to stiffen and pull back, _away_ from him, because having someone else _know_ about you and Bro is dangerous and wrong. The mere thought makes you feel sick to your stomach.

But you’re stuck in the grave-like pit, in the darkness, and when you try to get away the back of your head meets solid, unrelenting stone. Karkat’s nose is still buried in your neck, his chest still pressed tight to yours, and despite how much calmer he seems, waves of trembling wrack his body every now and then.

Oh, what the hell. It’s _Karkat_. If there’s one thing you’ve been sure of since the moment you arrived on this meteor, it’s that Karkat could never seriously hurt you. Not even _Rose_ feels as safe as Karkat, and she already knows about the mark, and besides, you doubt even trolls can see in absolute darkness.

So you wrap your arms around his back and pull him tighter to your chest, marking his hair with your cheek glands and slowly rubbing soothing circles up and down his spine.

“Shh, it’s okay, Karkat,” you whisper. “It’s a dream bubble. It’s a memory. It’ll be over before you know it.”

And then, suddenly, it is.

The wash of light that hits you as the dream bubble recedes hurts like a needle jabbing into your eyes, even with your shades on. Karkat hisses and curls tighter around himself, flinching away from the sudden light. As you blink, staring at your surroundings, it takes you a minute to recognize where you are.

You’re in Karkat’s room, lying together on a pile of books and dirty clothes.

You’re not Alternian, and you’re not a big fan of romcoms. But you know how tropes work. And you’ve seen literally dozens of meet-cute moirail pairs who wind up “accidentally” falling into strategically-placed piles in tender embraces. The way you and Karkat are wrapped around each other right now is, like, the biggest bro-quadrant cliche you’ve ever seen.

Except that it wasn’t actually an accident. You chose to follow Karkat to his safe space, chose to pacify him.

But this is just like last time, right? That was a one-time, spur-of-the-moment pacification, this is the same thing. You’re not… this isn’t a _romantic relationship._ It’s fine.

Eventually, Karkat uncurls, pulls far enough away to look at you, only to immediately glance away, refusing to meet your eyes. Not that you particularly _want_ eye contact right now.

“Hey,” you say, quietly, and you rub his back again reflexively. “You okay?”

“I—” Karkat says, even more hoarse and raw-sounding than he usually is, before cutting himself off. “I’m…”

He doesn’t complete the sentence, but eventually he ducks, hiding his face in your chest, and slowly shakes his head no.

“Do you want to talk about it?” you murmur. It feels wrong to speak any louder when he’s shaking in your arms.

“I almost died,” Karkat whispers. “I should have died.”

For half a second, it feels like your heart stops beating. _No. Not Karkat._

“In the memory?” you finally manage to ask around the inexplicable lump in your throat.

Karkat nods shakily, still not looking at you. “And in a few dozen more just like it,” he whispers. “It’s— I— I _shouldn’t_ have survived the drones. Not with who— _what_ , I am. People like me aren’t supposed to exist.”

You squeeze him even more tightly, as if by holding onto him _now_ you can somehow save him from the death sentence he _already_ escaped without your help.

But you can’t even contemplate losing Karkat. It’s as inconceivable as losing Rose or John or Jade. Karkat is one of your closest friends and… and you’d have died a hundred times over if it weren’t for your friends.

You don’t know what to say, but you have to fill the gnawing silence. “I’m glad,” you whisper, fiercely, squeezing him again in your arms. “I’m glad you survived and I’m glad you exist and I’m glad I got to meet you. Fuck, Karkat, you’re one of my best friends and you— you deserve to _live_.”

Karkat whimpers, clenches his hands in your shirt, and shudders. He doesn’t say anything else, and neither do you, just holding him and wishing you could turn back time and _save_ him from this nightmare without dooming your timeline and everyone in it.

You lay there in silence, broken only by an occasional whine from Karkat or a comforting hum of your own, for almost twenty minutes.

Finally, Karkat says, “We should talk about… this.” He’s still not looking at your face, but he gestures to the space in between you.

Your mouth goes dry. “What’s there to talk about?” you ask.

“Dave.” Karkat finally lifts his head and looks at you. “I know you know what moirails are.”

“We’re not, though,” you say, quickly, scooting to put a little more distance between your bodies. “This is - it’s a one time thing. Like back in November.”

Karkat bites his bottom lip. “ _Dave_ ,” he says, like you’re supposed to understand what he means just from the tone of his voice.

“What?” you say, and fuck, you sound _really_ nervous.

He sighs and ducks his head again. “I think I… I think I _pity_ you, Dave,” he confesses into the pile of dirty laundry.

Fuck. Why does that sound so much like _I think I love you?_

(Because trolls don’t have the concept of love. Pity is as close as they get.)

You jerk backwards and stand abruptly, leaving Karkat looking fragile and alone in the pile. Your mouth is dry, your heart is pounding in your ears and…

“I’m not _gay_ ,” you say.

Karkat curls into the fetal position and you feel like you’ve slammed a knife into his back. Fuck. Fuck this isn’t— he doesn’t deserve— you didn’t mean—

But you’re _not gay._

“I thought...” Karkat mumbles. “Moirails are conciliatory, not concupiscent.”

“Karkat…” you say, helplessly, looking at his tense form. “You’re…” You trail off.

The silence seems to widen the distance between you. You feel like you’re looking at him through the wrong end of a telescope - with every second that passes, you feel like he’s getting farther and farther away from you.

“I need to think about this,” you say.

Karkat makes a noise that might be assent, but also might just be _pain_.

When you whirl around and leave the room, your heart slamming in your ears, you feel like you’re running away.

Bro taught you a long, long time ago that you _can’t_ run. Running doesn't work. He'd always, _always_ catch up to you.

Still. That never stopped you from trying anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BTW, if I ever take another long break and you're not sure what happened to me or you just want to chat or any of that, feel free to follow me on my Tumblr at [@dedicatedfollower467](https://dedicatedfollower467.tumblr.com/). I don't talk a lot about this fic since my Tumblr is mostly SFW, but my askbox is always open and I will answer questions! Especially questions about worldbuilding 😍


	12. Coffee with a Vampire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dave and Kanaya have a chat over coffee. Well, mostly coffee.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, everyone! Thank you all again for your patience! I'm still working on this fic slowly and steadily.
> 
> I really enjoyed writing this chapter, and I hope you enjoy reading it!

You don’t realize just how much time you spend with Karkat in an average week until you start actively avoiding him.

The boredom is almost overwhelming. Your life is suddenly filled with hours upon hours of emptiness, like a great big void has stuck itself right in the middle of your routine. What did you even _do_ before you started hanging out with Karkat?

Looking back on it, you think you probably spent a lot of time with Rose. But nowadays she always seems to be busy with Kanaya. She’s never expressly told you to get out the room whenever you walk in on the two of them sitting close to each other and talking, but you’ve never had the courage to stay any longer than necessary. So hanging out with Rose isn’t really an option.

Terezi would normally be up for some shitty comics or something, but she also seems to always be hanging out with Vriska. And Vriska just makes you uncomfortable. It’s something in the way she grins and flashes those sharp teeth, something in the glint in her eye that makes you want to curl up in your nest and not come out.

You do end up spending some time working with the Mayor on Can Town, but really the vast majority of your week is spent pacing restlessly in empty hallways, feeling a terrible tugging in your chest that screams that you have to _do something_ without offering any options. And no, bothering Karkat is not an option. Not until you’ve untangled what you feel about the fact that he wants to be in diamonds with you.

The weeks drag on and on and you still can’t sort it out.

Other than the fact that you really fucking miss him.

It’s one of the days when the craving for activity and movement gets really bad, and you’re standing in front of the horrible “coffee” machine, trying to decide if you want to pour yourself another cup just to have something to _do_ with your hands other than drum your fingers on your leg, when Kanaya glides into the room.

You stamp down, _hard_ , on the urge to jump, to flinch, to draw your sword, because it’s just fucking _Kanaya_. Sure, she’s at least six inches taller than you and deadly silent and walks with the commanding presence of an Alpha but she wouldn’t hurt you. You don’t think. Not unless she had a really good reason.

“Hello, Dave,” she says, giving you that gentle smile that is nonetheless full of lethally sharp fangs.

“Hey, Kanaya,” you say, smoothly transforming the hand going for the hilt of your sword into a couple of quick punches on the coffee machine. “Sup. Want a cup of coffee?”

“No, thank you,” Kanaya says, crossing the room towards the weirdly organic-looking troll refrigerator equivalent. “I was going to get a refreshment of my own.”

Right. Cuz she’s a vampire. An alien vampire who drinks multicolored alien blood out of crystal glasses.

Your life is so goddamn weird sometimes.

When she pulls out a vial of something dark and sort of turquoise-y green, you have to glance away.

Kanaya seems to notice, and lets out a quiet noise, somewhere between a hum and a sigh. “If I’m bothering you I can go somewhere else,” she says, primly, making you feel like the world’s biggest fucking prick.

“Nah, no way, you’re fine,” you say, and just to prove it, you slide down onto the chair across the table from her, setting your mug of steaming hot sludge in front of you. “It’s chill.”

The two of you stare at each other, Kanaya occasionally take an uncomfortably loud sip of her beverage when the silence gets to you and you can’t fucking _stand_ it anymore.

“Hey, Kanaya, what have you been up to lately?” you blurt out. “I feel like we barely even know each other, we hardly ever fucking talk.”

Kanaya looks blankly at you, and at first you think she’s disdainful or irritated but when her lips quirk up in a small smile you realize the previous expression was actually surprise.

“No, we really don’t, do we?” she muses, and takes another sip. “I have not been up to much, although I doubt any of us can say they really _have_ been up to much of anything. Save perhaps Vriska.”

“Tell me about it,” you snort. “I’ve been bored out of my fucking skull for ages.”

Kanaya raises an eyebrow. “Oh? I was under the impression that you and Karkat were spending quite a lot of time together. Has that changed?”

You try not to squirm on the spot. “Yeah,” you mutter, turning your face away and dropping your eyes to the floor. “It’s changed.”

You’re afraid you’ve just dropped the conversation into another awkward silence, but Kanaya makes a quiet noise of - sympathy maybe? God, you thought you’d figured out how to read troll emotions from spending so much time around Karkat, but compared to him, Kanaya’s some kind of uncrackable code.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” she murmurs. Then after a short pause, she says a bit more loudly, “I’ve been passing most of my time with Rose, actually.”

You perk up at the change of subject. “Yeah, I noticed,” you say, and for once, you don’t actually feel resentful about it. Just curious. “How’s that been going?”

Okay, you may not be able to read troll body language great, but you know a blush when you see one. You can’t help but smirk, leaning forward slightly.

“Oh, that well, huh?” you say.

Kanaya sputters. “It’s - she’s an excellent conversational partner,” she says. “Our intellectual discussions are quite satisfying.”

“Yeah? And what exactly do you _discuss_?” You don’t even try resisting the urge to waggle your eyebrows at her.

“Human culture, mostly,” she says. “And troll culture, too, of course. The ways in which they are similar, as well as how they differ.”

“They seem pretty different to me,” you admit. “I mean, sure, there’s weird coincidences like Troll Will Smith and Human Will Smith and the existence of Troll Serendipity, but for the most part? Trolls seem a hell of a lot more anti-social and violence oriented than humans. Plus, you don’t even have parents, just your weird freaking animal monster things.”

Kanaya nods. “Well, that much is certainly true,” she says. “I can’t imagine having a truly positive relationship with an adult troll, much less one I was genetically related to. And I feel the violence aspect gives rise to the more anti-social tendencies - it is hard to develop any sense of altruism when your neighbor may kill you at any moment over perceived slights with little to no repercussion. That said, there are some social conventions of ours which more closely mirror human relationships.”

“Like what?”

“Like packs,” Kanaya says. “The more Rose and I talk about them, the more firmly convinced I am that they are incredibly similar in both emotion and function to moirallegiances.”

Suddenly your heart is pounding in your chest, and you know _precisely_ why.

“I thought moirails were like. Part of the whole romance deal.” You’re trying to keep your voice casual, but despite your best efforts there’s an audible hint of strain. “Packs aren’t romantic.”

“Well, yes, we do treat it as a form of romance,” Kanaya says, “but it’s somewhat erroneous to treat any one given quadrant exactly the same as humans treat the concept of romance in general. I would even argue that to treat the flushed quadrant and human romance as identical would be lacking a great deal of nuance.”

“So you’re saying it’s romantic but it’s not romantic,” you say, flatly. Kanaya hums thoughtfully.

“Let me put it this way,” she says. “I think most trolls would look at the behavior of a human pack and quantify that as a romantic relationship.”

You almost choke on your coffee. Suddenly all you can think of are Bro’s hands on your thighs and Rose pressed up against your sweaty, naked body as you writhe and moan and beg her to fuck you.

“That’s - I - how do you figure?” you say instead.

“Members of human packs spend a great deal of time touching and holding each other, often pressing their faces together,” Kanaya says. “On Alternia, any troll who wanted to be touched that much and that often by another troll would be thought of as having a major crush on that troll, regardless of what quadrant they were in. I would even go so far as to say a desire to touch and be touched is the cornerstone of troll romance.”

That’s… somehow both absolutely awful and completely unsurprising.

“Y’all don’t touch each other?” you say. “Like, not at all?”

Kanaya shrugs. “Non-violent touch is extremely rare between trolls who are not in a quadrant together,” she says. “And when we do touch each other, it is never the kind of full-body contact that human packs employ.”

“Not even with really really close friends?” you ask.

Kanaya shakes her head. “Any friends close enough for that kind of contact on a regular basis would likely already be moirails.”

Well now.

That certainly casts some things in a new light.

Suddenly you’re looking back to months ago, when you’d provoke Karkat into tackling you and then wrestle around playfully on the floor for a little while. Or how nowadays, Karkat likes to sit close enough that his thigh just brushes yours, and sometimes you’ll drape an arm across the back of the couch. You think about curling up in a tiny, dark hole in the floor of Karkat’s basement and holding him as he panics.

“So moirails are just… like a two-person pack,” you say, slowly and carefully.

“It’s not precisely the same,” Kanaya says. “Many of the details are different - moirallegiance requires a level of openness and transparency that does not seem to be a necessary part of a pack structure - but in essence they are quite similar.”

You down the rest of your coffee in one gulp, and stand.

“Well, Kanaya, good chat,” you say, setting the mug in the sink. “Nice talking to you. We should do this again sometime.”

Kanaya’s slight smile is almost a smirk, and her eyes are positively fucking sparkling. “It was nice talking to you, too Dave. I’ll see you around.”

You don’t even care whether her eyes are still watching you with undisguised amusement as you rush off to find Karkat.


	13. Apologies and Other Difficult Things to Say

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dave apologizes to Karkat, and works some stuff out with him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have so many different versions of so many different chapters that I'm very tempted to release a "Deleted Scenes Special" just full of the approximately 15,000 words of cut content from this series.
> 
> Also, in case you're not following my other fics in this series; [I made a spoiler-free Official Timeline of everything that has happened so far,](https://docs.google.com/document/d/1D8sajtH6YoLxXLrzX-K7EUNNc1vkFkDVBf4Wt9OvtNA/edit?usp=sharing) which I plan to keep up-to-date with currently-released chapters.
> 
> (annnnnd with this chapter this series has officially passed the 100k mark here on ao3 and even though i've had 100k+ words in my docs for months now i still genuinely have difficulty comprehending that)
> 
> Warnings: mild panic attack/flashbacks

You spend more than twenty minutes standing outside Karkat’s door, dithering.

It’s been a little less than four weeks since Karkat admitted the way he felt about you, and in that time you’ve only seen him briefly, coming in and out of the common room or Can Town. Without actually talking about it, the two of you have somehow decided that when one of you enters a room, the other will leave.

This entire time, Karkat’s probably been nursing a broken heart.

 _Not like that_ , you remind yourself, when your heart rate picks up. _Kanaya said it’s like a pack._

And you’d be pretty broken-hearted, too, if Rose had said “no” and then avoided you for a month after you asked her to be pack.

You swallow hard and wonder if maybe it would just be better to leave things the way they are, because Karkat is going to be pissed as all hell at you. Which you entirely deserve, because you’ve been acting like an insensitive dipshit at best, and an outright cruel bastard at worst.

But you miss him. And… fuck. If you’d thought about moirails as pack back when he’d asked you? You’d have said yes on the spot.

So you take a deep, steadying breath, and rap your knuckles on Karkat’s door.

For a second, you think maybe he’s not even _in_ there, but then you hear rustling, and slow footsteps. The door swings open.

Karkat looks like _shit._

If you thought the bags under his eyes looked huge before this, these are entire fucking freight containers. The purpling around them is so dark he almost looks bruised, and you’re pretty sure the pinched line between his eyebrows is permanent, now. His skin is pale, almost sickly-looking, and it looks like he’s lost weight, too.

“Holy fuck, are you okay?” are the first words out of your mouth.

Karkat’s face drops, and he closes his eyes, turning away from you. Then, without a word, he starts to shut the door.

You jam your foot inside, wincing when it bangs into your toe.

“Wait, Karkat, please, shit, I’m sorry,” you say. “Please, just hear me out, I’m sorry, I’m so fucking sorry.”

He doesn’t keep trying to slam the door shut, but he doesn’t open the door back up, either. His face is still turned away from you, staring dully at the wall. He looks so _tired._

“I’m sorry,” you say again. “I shouldn’t have - I shouldn’t have run away like that, and I _definitely_ shouldn’t have avoided you this whole time. I’ve been an absolute shithead, and I’m sorry, you didn’t deserve _any_ of that.” Especially not after he’d basically told you he trusted you enough to hand you his soul on a silver platter.

And then you’d gone and smashed it on the ground.

“I’m sorry,” you say again, helplessly, because those two words are completely inadequate but they’re all you have. “I’m sorry. I’ll never do it again.”

Karkat looks even _more_ tired now than he did before, his eyes closed. “Okay,” he says, and you know it’s not forgiveness. “What do you want?”

“I - mostly to apologize,” you say, which isn’t quite true, because what you really want is to say yes to being moirails but you’re starting to realize you maybe kinda fucked that up and you’ve probably got a lot of ground to make up before you’re even close to being there again. If you ever get to that point again. Which sucks. “I miss you.”

You didn’t mean to say those last three words, but they slip out unbidden, and they hit Karkat like a bullet to the chest. He actually flinches backward, as if they actually were a physical blow. Your heart clenches because _you_ did that to him, you hurt him _again_ , and suddenly you’re afraid you’ll never be able to stop hurting him.

“I miss you, too.”

The words are so quiet and hoarse you almost don’t catch them, but when you do, your heart just breaks even further in two.

“I’m sorry,” you say for the millionth time.

Karkat opens the door. “Do you want to come in?” he asks, still looking and sounding so tired, so done, so _hurt._

You swallow before the words _I’m sorry_ can pass your lips again. “Sure,” you say, and step inside as Karkat steps back.

Normally, Karkat’s room is almost uncannily neat. He’s got a spare, utilitarian sense of style, and there’s a place for everything and when he’s done with something he puts it away, unlike you, just leaving stuff wherever when you happen to be done with it. Apart from his one pile in the corner, which is honestly a lot more like a nicely organized nest than just a pile of random stuff, everything is usually very, very clean.

Right now, it looks like a hurricane swept through the room.

There are empty chip packages and soda bottles on the floor, books and DVD cases scattered here and there, stacked in haphazard towers. None of his neatly organized shelves have anything on them, and you can see dust bunnies growing under his bed.

Most notably, the pile that used to sit in the corner has been scattered to the four winds, the blankets and books and pillows that once were part of it strewn across the carpet like litter on a Houston sidewalk. There’s no longer anything even remotely resembling a nest in the room.

You stand awkwardly in the messy room and feel the guilt twist in your stomach like a hooked fish.

Karkat stands awkwardly behind you after he shuts the door, and you wonder if he’s also looking at the sorry state of his room and blaming you for it.

“Sorry about the mess,” he says, which tells you the answer to about half that question.

“It’s fine,” you say even though it’s _not_ fine, _he’s_ not fine, and you want to fix this but you don’t know how.

Silence descends like the oppressive weight of a body pinning you down.

“Are you okay?” you ask again, finally. “You look…”

“Like shit?” He laughs mirthlessly. “Tell me something I _don’t_ know, Strider.”

The dull sound of his scoffing laughter rings in your ears, and this isn’t right, everything is all _wrong_.

“Why aren’t you mad at me?” you say. “Why aren’t you shouting and calling me a douchenozzle?” He’d have every right to - you’ve been just the _worst_.

Karkat raises an eyebrow. “Why would I be mad at you for not wanting to spend time with me?” he says. “It’s not like I can stand myself either.”

“What?” you say. “Karkat…”

Karkat raises a hand to forestall further comment. “I mean, I already know I’m an ugly bitter bulgemunch who spends all his time complaining in his irritating, grating voice, with even more grating personality. I’m hardly _surprised_ you dropped me like the sack of shit I am when I suggested we become _moirails._ ”

“No!” you burst out. “Fuck, Karkat, that’s not it at _all_ , I fucking love spending time with you! I like listening to you rant about movies and books and shit, you don’t have a _grating personality_ —”

“You don’t have to spare my fucking feelings, Dave—”

“I’m not _sparing_ your fucking feelings, what the fuck—”

“I already told you, I get that I’m not a very attractive person, it’s fine that you ran away—”

“It wasn’t about _you!”_ you shout.

Karkat blinks.

“Listen,” you say. “This is gonna sound like a bullshit line out of one of your shitty romcoms, but it’s actually fucking true - it’s not you, it’s me.”

He snorts. “Sure,” he says, sarcastic as hell.

“It _is_ ,” you say. “Look, I freaked out because of my own stupid bullshit, okay? I don’t think you’re fucking _unattractive_ , for a Beta dude you’re actually pretty hot, okay, that’s not why I ran away, I’m just a fucking coward.”

“A coward.” Karkat’s voice is just flat enough that you start to feel your breath getting tight in your chest.

You push on anyway. “Yeah, a fucking coward,” you say. “It’s - it was the whole gay thing, okay?”

Karkat rolls his eyes. “Yeah, I _know_ ,” he says. “You’re not gay, you’re not attracted to me, it’s _fine—”_

“It’s not— you’ve _seen_ Brokeback Mountain!” you say. “The beating gay people up? That shit _actually fucking happens!”_

“But, as you’ve said a million fucking times, you’re not gay,” Karkat says.

“It doesn’t matter how _I_ feel if it looks gay from the outside!”

Once again, Karkat blinks, apparently speechless. Breathing is getting surprisingly difficult, and you feel like you’re gasping, struggling not to drown.

“If my Bro knew I was in a _romantic relationship_ with a non-Alpha guy, even a weird fucking alien one, he’d… he’d…”

Panic spreads through you slowly, like blood in water. You can see Bro, in your mind’s eye, towering over you, his face flat and emotionless and promising death. Memories of him throwing you down the stairs or smashing your face into the wall until your nose starts to bleed flash through your brain. Your limbs are shaking. You long to draw your sword, just have the hilt in your hands as a defense mechanism, useless as it always fucking was.

But you’re not going to, because you’re here, in Karkat’s room, and you’re not going to draw a fucking sword on him when you’re trying to apologize for being a piece of shit.

“Dave?” Karkat says.

You don’t look at him. “Being gay is fucking dangerous, okay?” you say. “I freaked out and ran because I’m a fucking coward.”

“Dave,” Karkat says. “Your Bro isn’t here. He can’t hurt you. _No one_ on this meteor is gonna hurt you for looking gay.”

“Nobody’s gonna kill _you_ for having red blood,” you say, drily. “You’re telling me you wouldn’t freak out if you got stabbed and started bleeding?”

He swallows. “Okay, point,” he says.

“I’m still sorry,” you say, lifting your head to look at him. Your heart is still beating fast in your chest, but it’s okay, you’ve mostly got it under control now. “Being scared is a reason, but it’s not an excuse for treating you like shit, when I know _exactly_ how much trust you’d given me.”

“Do you?” Karkat says.

“Kanaya says she thinks human packs are like troll moirails, except with more people,” you say. “And I’ve seen enough of your romcoms to think she’s right. It’s like - you trusted me to have your back, to be there for you, even if everything else fell apart. And I let you down.”

“You weren’t my moirail,” Karkat says. “You didn’t owe me anything.”

“But you still trusted me enough that you thought you _could_ trust me with that,” you say. “And I threw it back in your face.”

There’s a beat of silence.

“Yeah,” Karkat says, sounding bitter. “Yeah, you kinda fucking did.”

“I’m sorry,” you say again, and Karkat spits out another harsh, humorless bray of laughter.

“And that’s supposed to make everything better, is it?” he half-snarls at you. “You’re fucking _sorry,_ so I should just come running back and trust you again, is that it? You’re sorry, so we’re all just fine and fucking dandy now, huh?”

“No,” you say, quietly. “I know sorry doesn’t fix anything, I know you can’t trust me yet. I just wanted you to know, I _know_ what I did, and I’m sorry, and I’m never gonna do something like that to you again.”

Karkat’s snarl is still etched into his face, and you close your eyes so you don’t have to look at it anymore. It feels like someone has reached into your chest and clamped a vise around your heart, and your stomach feels empty and hollow. Tears are starting to prickle in your eyes and a lump is forming in your throat, but you’re not going to cry. This is your own goddamn fault, and you don’t have the right to cry.

“I just want to be friends again,” you say. “Can we at least have that much?”

There’s a pause.

 _“Fuck me,_ ” Karkat says, “I have got to be a pan-rotted fucking _moron_ , I can’t believe myself, I’m such a goddamn idiot—”

“You’re not,” you begin, but Karkat cuts you off.

“Because I’m _going_ to fucking trust you again,” he says. “Of course I’m going to fucking trust you, I’m _stupidly_ gone over you, I pity you so fucking bad you could probably cut off my damn bulge and feed it to a barkbeast and I’d still want you as my moirail.”

Your heart flutters with hope. “You— really?” you say, opening your eyes.

Karkat looks angry, every corner of his face pulled into a grumpy frown, but he doesn’t look apathetic anymore and more importantly, he doesn’t look hurt or sad like before.

“Yeah, really,” he says, not looking at you. “Unless that’s not what you were going for, I mean, if you were just trying to let me down easy, I know you don’t even like guys like me, shit, just fucking forget about it—”

You cut him off by reaching out and cupping his cheek, rubbing your thumb over the soft roundness of his cheekbone. He shivers and melts into the touch.

“No, this is pretty much exactly what I was gunning for,” you say, a little breathlessly, as you take his face into both your hands. “I just. Didn’t really expect that you’d be okay with it, considering how awful I’ve been.”

“I told you,” Karkat mutters. “My thinkpan’s rotted right through with pity for you.”

You throw your arms around him, then, squeezing him tight to your chest and rubbing your face on his hair. He lets out a sound somewhere between a hiccup and a sob, fisting his hands in your shirt.

“I dunno if it’s really the right word for what I feel, because I’m human and shit,” you say. “But fuck, Karkat, I think I pity you too.”

When he laughs this time, it may be a bit shaky, but it’s genuine joy.


	14. Disclosure and Exposure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dave has to warn Karkat about how bad his heats are.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hm? Pacing? Never heard of her.
> 
> Chapter Warnings: Oblique discussion of child sexual abuse

It’s kinda weird how little things change between you and Karkat after becoming moirails.

You still find him out in the common room on nights when you can’t sleep and lambast terrible romcoms. You still go over to his room when you’re bored to chat and talk about his romance novels. He still sometimes comes over to your room and insults your comics and pretends he doesn’t like your music even though he totally does.

The difference is that now, when you join him out in the common room in the middle of the night, instead of sitting on opposite ends of the couch, you curl up with your head in his lap. You sit in his pile-slash-nest thing in the corner of his room with your arms around his chest and he strokes his hand through your hair as he reads his novels aloud. When he comes to your room, he drapes himself across your lap and you throw an arm around his shoulders as you play music for him.

Some nights you even fall asleep in each other’s arms, curled up like two little pups in their mother’s nest.

There’s only one problem with the idea that you and Karkat have formed a special, two-person pack, and that’s the fact that he doesn’t have a fucking scent. He can’t mark you, can’t claim you the way your brain says a pack is supposed to.

Doesn’t stop you from marking the hell out of him, rubbing your chin against his cheek, lightly brushing your wrists over his back and neck. Sometimes Karkat even seems to initiate it, like when he rubs your jaw or strokes his fingers over the scent-glands just behind your ears while you’re lying together in his pile. Every time, you release a burst of that strawberry and whipped cream and honey smell, coating his scentless form and clinging to his skin. It’s been long enough now that even from several feet away, you can smell your claim on him.

The end result is that Karkat doesn’t feel so much like your _pack_ as he feels like a walking, talking _nest_. You barely even use the nest in your room anymore, except when sleeping— and even then, only when you’re sleeping without Karkat.

Unfortunately, with your next heat rapidly approaching, you know _exactly_ what that’s going to mean for your fucked-up instincts.

You’re going to _need_ Karkat, maybe even more than you need Rose. Maybe as much as you need _Bro._

Sure, your heats have gotten a little less awful and overwhelming, but you still whine and moan and beg Rose to fuck you, still strip down and present with your ass in the air and leak all over your sheets and plead for your Alpha to just _take_ you.

Karkat’s never seen you like that, doesn’t know about the bond. And somehow, you don’t think moirails get naked and beg to be fucked. Shit, that could get _hella_ fucking gay and super awkward, even though you’re not in your right mind when you lose control like that.

But Karkat is your safe spot, and you’ll be lost and terrified in heat without him.

Which means you have to tell him. About _all_ of it.

You keep putting it off and putting it off, not wanting to expose yourself, not wanting to have to deal with it. Karkat sometimes gets this _look_ on his face that says he knows you’re holding something back, but he’s not going to push you on it, but he _will_ if you don’t spit it out soon.

You procrastinate so hard that it isn’t until literally the _day_ before you’re scheduled to go into heat that you bring it up with him.

You’re lying together in his pile, your head pillowed on his chest, and he’s just finished the novel he was reading aloud. Normally, at this point, you’d stand up and stretch and suggest some other activity, but today you just clutch his black sweater, struggling to come up with the words to explain.

“Dave?” Karkat says. His hand settles in your hair, rubbing soothing scritches around your ears, and you can smell your mark coating his fingers. “Is something wrong?”

You take a deep breath.

“My heat’s coming up,” you say, quietly. “Probably gonna start tomorrow or the next day.”

“Oh,” Karkat says, and you can hear the disappointment. “So, I won’t see you for the next few days.”

You swallow. “Actually,” you say, and then clear your throat awkwardly. “Actually, um, I was. I was kinda hoping you would. Uh. Stay with me? For it? Like Rose does?”

There’s a short pause while you stare down into the fabric of his sweater and try not to tremble. Then Karkat says, “Oh, sure. Right. Because moirails are like packs, and packs are supposed to be there for a heat.”

“Yeah,” you say. “I just. I know I’m not gonna feel safe if you’re not there, dude.”

Karkat makes a pleased little humming noise at that. It’s almost a croon, actually, like an honest-to-God happy-comforting croon, and that nearly makes you giggle. Partly because it’s funny to hear him _make_ a noise like that, and partly because you might be just a touch hysterical from nerves.

“Of fucking course I’ll be there if you want me there,” Karkat says. The hand in your hair drops to curl around your shoulders, pulling you closer to him. “Why the fuck is that even in question?”

You want to just huddle in his arms, take comfort in the contact but…

You sigh, and push yourself up, pulling away from him, so you can watch his face instead of burying your nose in his sweater. “I mean, I gotta warn you, dude,” you say. “My heats are _not_ like the shit you see in romcoms.”

Sanitized and sparkling and just _sliiightly_ sexy, Omegas rubbing sensually up against their partners (and less sensually, marking their packmates) with tasteful fades to black or cuts to shots of curtains or the beach or trains going through tunnels or whatever the fuck. That _definitely_ isn’t what your heats are like.

Karkat just rolls his eyes. “Oh, wow, gee, fictional movies _exaggerate_ shit,” he says. “I never would have guessed. Thank you for prising open my rusted-shut ganderbulbs, for dropping that enlightening truth bomb into my thinkpan. I’d be fucking lost without you.”

You want to laugh at the sarcasm, but your throat feels dry. “No, I mean, my heats are like. _Super_ abnormal, according to Rose,” you say. “They’re uh. They’re bad.”

Karkat frowns. “Bad like how?”

You lick your lips. “What do you know about mating bonds?”

Karkat makes a noncommittal noise. “Mostly what I’ve seen in human romcoms,” he admits. “It’s some kind of marker of the epitome of a romantic relationship involving a great big bite on the neck in the middle of sex, which seems a little off-putting to me, but I guess I’m not human. Why? What does that have to do with anything?”

You take a deep breath, closing your eyes. Then you tilt your head and pull down the collar of your shirt to expose your scar.

With your eyes screwed up tight, you don’t know exactly what Karkat’s doing, but you feel him shift beneath you. You gulp when his fingers brush over the already-swelling gland, a twinge of pain racing up and down your spine like lightning.

“Sorry,” Karkat says, hoarse and almost whispering. Then, a little bit more forcefully, he asks, “Who…?”

“My— my Bro bonded me when I was ten,” you whisper.

A stunned silence fills the room. You still have your eyes squeezed shut and your fingers in your collar, still exposing the scarfor Karkat to see. You somehow feel naked before him, even with all your clothes on. You can’t open your eyes, can’t bear to actually _see_ the hard yellow gaze that you can _feel_ on you like a physical weight.

Karkat growls, the sound downright _vicious_. You flinch backwards and let go of your shirt, curling in on yourself, trying to hide.

“Fuck, no, Dave,” Karkat says, and there’s still that growl underlying his words, but he slides his hands gently up your arms, rubbing soothing circles into your skin, and you know it’s not directed at you. “That’s— you were a _child._ He was a goddamn adult. That’s fucked up.”

Okay, fuck, you didn’t intend to fucking _cry_ , but you can feel the tears leaking out from between your eyelids. You try not to let your mouth screw up in some kind of terrible grimace but you can’t help it.

“I—” you say, and then break yourself off because you can _hear_ the way your voice is choking up.

Karkat’s arms curl around you, and he drags you down, cradling your head with one hand. You bury your face into the junction of his neck and shoulder and clutch at his sweater with almost-numb fingers.

“He should never have done that,” Karkat says, a surprising amount of heat in his words. “That was— it was _wrong._ You deserve so, so much better than that, Dave.”

A wail drags itself out of your throat, an ugly, broken thing that feels too loud, too harsh, too raw, like the ragged edges of it can actually rip and tear the air itself.

“But I _did_ deserve it,” you sob desperately, the tears flowing down your cheeks. “I asked for it, I wanted it, I wanted _him_ , I always— I _told_ him to fuck me.”

Karkat’s fingers grip your hair, the hold just this side of painful, and his other arm tightens more across your back. “No,” he snarls, “No, _fuck_ that, you were a fucking _child._ I don’t care how much you quote-unquote ‘asked’ for it, there’s no _fucking_ way that was justified.”

You continue to cry, and he continues to babble out reassurance, rubbing circles into your back. It’s so _strange_ , to hear him say it, and he says it with such absolute _conviction_ , that what happened was wrong, wrong, _wrong_ , that it was not your fault, that your Bro should not have touched you like that, should not have _hurt_ you like that.

And something in your chest _aches_ , because it hurts to admit that Karkat is right, because if Karkat is right, and Bro fucking you and bonding you was _wrong_ , then that means that Bro didn’t— didn’t care about you, didn’t _love_ you—

But you knew that, didn’t you? Because now you _know_ what it feels like, to be loved, because you have Rose, and you have Karkat, even if Karkat calls it pity, because love is bringing you an extra cup of coffee without you having to ask, and telling you to play a song you’re proud of again just because you’re proud of it, and rubbing your back when you cry, and putting your needs and wants and desires before their own. Bro _never_ did that, he didn’t _care_ about what you wanted or needed, unless it was to hear you say you needed _him_ just to make you feel even worse.

You cling to Karkat and cry and cry and cry.

When you finally stop shaking, Karkat’s whole shoulder is one big wet patch, and your eyelids feel crusty and swollen. You sniffle, and mumble into his shirt, “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” Karkat says. “You have _nothing_ to be sorry for.”

“‘M addicted to him,” you mumble. “I can’t— I’m gonna do and say some embarrassing shit because of him tomorrow and it’s gonna be totally outside the realm of platonic life bros and it’s not what packs are supposed to have to deal with but I _need_ you, Karkat, and it’s going to be gross and I’m sorry.”

Karkat squeezes you and keeps stroking your hair. “It’s not your fault,” he says. “I can handle whatever you throw at me, Dave. I can take it.”

After several long minutes of shuddering breaths and shaking, you lift yourself up and wipe away your tears, pushing up your shades as you do. “Thanks,” you say. “I didn’t mean to dump all that on you, dude.”

Karkat shakes his head and catches one of your hands in his own. “We’re _moirails_ ,” he says. “That means we tell each other _everything._ Even the really fucked up shit.”

For a long minute you just watch him, your eyes meeting his, and you’re very aware of the fact that your shades are on top of your head so he can actually _see_ your eyes, can probably see the naked, raw emotions in your face. But his expression doesn’t waver, and he doesn’t judge you, and the depth of tenderness and affection you can see on his face staggers you to your core.

You lie your head back down on his chest when his gaze gets to be too much for you.

“Thanks, anyways,” you whisper, feeling the gentle rise and fall of his breathing.

Kanaya was wrong.

Karkat isn’t your pack. He’s your _everything._

“ _I love you_ ,” you mouth soundlessly against his skin, and hope he didn’t hear.

You think you have an inkling of an understanding why moirails are considered romantic on Alternia.


	15. Act 2 Intermission 1 - Karkat: Be the Nest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dave goes into heat, and Karkat comforts him through it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *A wild POV Shift appears!*
> 
> You all seemed REALLY excited for this chapter, so I hope it does not disappoint!
> 
> CHAPTER WARNINGS: Discussions of past child sexual abuse, scars, the usual dub-con when it comes to Dave's heat, although there's no actual sex in this chapter. Also internalized... uh... pan-quadrant-phobia, I guess?

You’re positively _boiling_ with anger when you follow Dave back to his block for the day— or night, you guess, because humans can afford to be diurnal because their sun isn’t a blistering orb of pure hellspawn that demolishes dermal cells in seconds. The point is, you’re gonna sleep with him.

 _Not_ like that, he’s your goddamn moirail, as weird as that is, as difficult as it would be to explain that to Past Karkat and his ridiculous pitch crush. But Past Karkat is fucking idiot and you’ve always known that, so fuck him and his sexual attraction to the guy who is now your 100% platonic moirail that you are _not_ going to have sex with, because that would be gross and wrong and terrible.

Especially considering what he _just fucking told you_ about his shitty adult human lusus.

Said shitty adult human lusus is currently the reason why you’re seething with rage as you curl up in Dave’s pile, arms wrapped protectively around your diamond.

That sick asshole has a _lot_ to answer for. You want to scream and spit and snarl at him, take your sickles and hack his limbs off, claw his _eyes_ out, rip his human bulge off, for daring to do that to Dave, making him sincerely believe that he _deserved_ that kind of treatment.

But you can’t, because he’s dead. He’s dead and he didn’t answer for _jack shit,_ and that _also_ adds to the frothing rage in your thinkpan.

Since you can’t rip the bastard limb from limb, you wrap yourself around your moirail and feel his chest rise and fall, listen as his breathing slowly evens itself out and he drifts off into sleep. Dave snuggles even closer to you, unconsciously, nuzzling the side of your neck, and a rush of emotion swells inside your torso.

Fuck, once you get past the snarky deadpan exterior, Dave is so _sweet_ and _gentle_ and positively fucking _soft_ , and you can’t fathom how anyone could see this boy and then turn around and _hurt_ him like that. It’s in-fucking-conceivable. You literally cannot wrap your thinkpan around the concept of _attacking_ this vulnerable child in your arms, let alone _sexually assaulting_ him.

You don’t exactly fall asleep, too pissed off to do anything more than doze lightly.

So you’re kinda semi-awake to notice when, a few hours in, Dave starts to shift and whimper. At first you think it’s just a nightmare or a shitty dream bubble, but then you notice how warm he is, how flushed his skin has become. You even notice a strange, musty-damp smell, and after a second or two of looking him over you realize it’s coming from a slowly-growing wet patch in the seat of his sleep pants.

He’s in heat.

Fully alert now, you hold him more tightly, feeling the burn of his skin, and starting to wonder just what “outside the realm of platonic life bros” actually means to Dave.

Dave is still asleep, though tossing fitfully in your arms, ass basically completely soaked with his own fluids, which is, yeah, pretty gross, when there’s a gentle knock at the door, and then Rose enters. She’s carrying a sack that appears to be bulging with water bottles and some kind of compressed seed bar that you’ve seen Dave snacking on every now and then.

She pauses just within the doorway, staring at you. “Oh, so he did invite you then?” she says, lightly.

You nod, awkwardly, and can’t think of anything to say.

Rose walks briskly across the room, dropping her sack on a nearby nightstand as she hops up onto the bed beside you and Dave. She rubs her hand across his face in a motion that looks _almost_ like papping, which makes a little tiny part of you whine that he’s supposed to be _your_ moirail. You shut that fucker up, because Rose is Dave’s _pack_ and he needs her here, too, no matter how jilted it makes you feel.

Dave sighs and presses into her touch, and the restless shifting subsides a bit. A squirming jealousy takes up residence in your intestines, because he’s _your_ moirail, so why doesn’t _your_ touch calm him the way Rose’s does?

“I’m tentatively hopeful that this heat will be somewhat more bearable for all three of us,” Rose tells you. “Between the four heats I’ve witnessed so far, there’s been a noticeable trend towards fewer and less aggressive demands and a shorter recovery period after.”

You frown in confusion. “That’s… good?” you say. “Dave didn’t really tell me a lot about what was going to happen. Just that it was ‘outside the realm of platonic life bros,’ whatever that means.”

Rose snorts, and it’s not a pretty one. “How very like him,” she mutters. Then, a bit louder as she turns to you, she says, “I think it’s only fair to warn you that he will almost _certainly_ beg you to fuck him.”

Heat blooms across your face and fuck, you’re _blushing_. “ _What?”_ you say.

You’re _not_ sexually attracted to Dave anymore. You’re not. Definitely, for sure, 100% just moirails with him. If he asks you to fuck him you will _not_ be tempted to agree, because moirails don’t have sex, and you’re not sexually attracted to him.

Rose opens her mouth to explain further, and of course that’s when Dave wakes up.

“Bro…” he whimpers, eyes blinking, and you try not to let the sudden _hatred_ which flares up within you make it onto your face.

Rose brushes his hair out of his face. “It’s all right, Dave,” she says. “I’m here. Karkat’s here.”

 _“Karkat,”_ Dave says, and lifts his head, looking you straight in the eyes. His body is trembling, and he grabs your shirt, pulling you closer to him. “Fuck, _Karkat._ ”

“Yeah, I’m here, Dave,” you say, but Dave just buries his head in your shoulder and shudders. You rub circles into his back.

“I’m glad,” he whispers, so quiet you don’t think Rose can hear it. “This is gonna suck so much but it would suck way worse if you weren’t here.”

“Dave,” Rose says. “Do you think you can drink some water? Before things really start?”

Dave nods his head, and then sits up a bit. Feeling awkward as the only one lying down when everyone else on this bed is sitting up, you raise yourself up and fold your legs under you. Rose hands Dave a water bottle and he unscrews the cap and gulps half the thing down in a matter of seconds.

“Fuck,” Dave says, and he hasn’t stopped shuddering and he’s not wearing his shades, and between those two things he looks more vulnerable than you’ve ever seen him before. “Fuck, I need…” He trails off, squirming in place, and glances at you out of the corner of his eye.

“What do you need, Dave?” Rose prompts.

Dave squeezes his eyes shut, and you suddenly notice the shining lines of humans’ oddly clear tears running down his cheeks. “I need my Alpha,” he says, brokenly.

You try to tamp down the rage as you look across him to meet Rose’s eyes. Given her expression, you’re pretty sure if Dave’s Bro were in the room right now, you’d have a cheerful and vicious orange-clad ally as you ripped him apart.

In the short time you’ve been distracted by your shared hatred for the man who hurt Dave so badly, Dave’s eyes have gone oddly glassy and distant, like he’s not seeing you or Rose. He lets out a pained little gasp and curls in on himself, clutching his stomach and whimpering.

“Fuck fuck fuck fuck,” he murmurs. “Fuck, where is—”

He cuts himself off with another little gasp, and then rolls over, onto his stomach, and lifts his ass in the air. Tears continue to slide down his cheeks, and you can see the huge, dark damp spot growing on his pants.

And then he just… _stays_ there like that, limbs trembling, for almost an hour, without moving, occasionally whimpering out a desperate, “ _Please.”_

The last time you felt this helpless, you were lying in the bottom of a hole dug under your house, covered in a heat-cloaking sheet, unable to stop yourself from shaking in fear.

You look desperately at Rose as you rub circles into Dave’s back. “What— what do I do?”

Rose just sighs and shakes her head, and continues to gently card her fingers through Dave’s hair. “You’re here for him,” she says, simply. “That’s all we really _can_ do, at the moment.”

Dave whines, pressing his forehead into the sheets, and your bloodpusher clenches. “There has to be _something_ else,” you say.

Rose shakes her head, lips pursed. “Anything that might ‘help’ temporarily will only cause him more harm in the long term,” she says.

Suddenly, Dave moves, hands shooting out to grab Rose’s wrists. “Rose,” he says, and his eyes are still glassy and unseeing as he looks into her face. “Bond me, _please_ , it hurts, it hurts and you can _fix_ it, I need you, _please.”_

Rose just sighs. “Case in fucking point,” she mutters at you. Then she turns back to Dave and says, “No, Dave. I won’t do that to you. I’m sorry, I know it hurts.”

Dave bursts into tears. Unable to stop yourself, you reach out and pull him against your chest, patting his hair and stroking his face and gently shooshing him. You don’t even _care_ that Rose is watching; he’s your damn moirail and he’s in pain and you have to help him.

“Karkat,” Dave says, gulping around his sobs. “Karkat, bond me, please, I don’t even know if you can but _please,_ I want you to try, I _need_ a bond, it _hurts,_ I’m so fucking empty—”

Fuck, you wish you could give it to him, you really do, you’d do anything to take away his pain.

Anything but _that._

“I can’t, Dave,” you whisper into his ear, and his sobs start afresh as he curls into you. “I’m so sorry.”

You’re honestly a little surprised at how easy it is to turn him down. Maybe it’s because watching him shake and cry and beg for the asshole who screwed him over is the farthest thing from arousing you can imagine. He’s hurting, and you _hate_ watching it.

Dave spends a few minutes just crying desperately in your arms, before his shudders finally seem to subside. Then he suddenly whips off his shirt, throwing it to the other side of the room, and scoots off the edge of the bed, landing on shaky legs. He stumbles towards the door, pulling the waistband of his pants down.

You are frozen in place by the sight of his naked torso.

His back is _blanketed_ with scars, crisscrossing over his skin like a nest of barbed wire. Some of them are huge and ridged, rising up off his back like dark, puckered mountain chains, while others are narrow and pale and flat, but what they all have in common is that each and every one of them makes snakes of terror and rage eat themselves alive in your gut. What the _fuck._

You might have said that last bit aloud, because Rose glances at you and then follows after him, putting a hand on his shoulder just as he’s managed to struggle out of his underwear, leaving him naked. You can see more scars across his butt and thighs, and some of them look like _bite_ marks, and you find that you can’t move because you are _shaking_ with anger and horrified understanding.

A clear, shiny fluid drips steadily down Dave’s legs.

Candy-red-tinged tears are starting to do the same down your face.

“Alpha, Alpha, Alpha, _please,_ I need you, I _need you_ , where _are_ you,” Dave calls, voice thick as he collapses on the floor by the door, scratching at the barrier. Rose follows close behind. “ _Please_ , I swear I’ll be good, I _swear_.”

You almost run in your haste to join them, falling to your knees and wrapping your arms around Dave from behind. You hide your face against his scar-torn back, ignoring Rose’s penetrating stare.

“You _are_ good, Dave,” you say, almost choking on the tears in your throat. “You’re so fucking strong, you’ve already come through so much, you’re _amazing._ ”

Dave slumps forward, letting his arms drop limp. “Then why isn’t he _here,”_ Dave whispers.

“Because he doesn’t fucking deserve you,” you snarl, viciously. “You’re a million times better than he could ever hope to be.”

Dave just _cries_ , thin and helpless and lost-sounding, like a two-sweep old wiggler who can’t find their lusus. And all you can do is hold him and cry, too.

After a minute, Rose brushes her hand across Dave’s face, doing that scent-marking thing again. “Why don’t we get you back to your nest?” she says.

Dave tilts his head back, into you. “I got my nest right here,” he says, and places both hands over yours, squeezing lightly.

Fuck. Your chest hurts so bad you’re pretty sure your bloodpusher just stopped pumping for a second. Fuck, you pity him so much.

No.

No, you _love_ him.

The intensity of the feeling and the certainty with which you label it almost frighten you.

That said, your knees are getting sore from kneeling on the hard concrete floor, not to mention absolutely soaked by the pool of slick spreading from between Dave's thighs. So you adjust your hold on Dave, sliding one arm under his sprawling legs, cradling him against your chest like a human infant. He’s so much lighter than he looks— you lift him easily and carry him back to the bed, laying him down gently. His hands latch onto your shirt, and he doesn’t let you go.

Rose comes up from behind. “See if you can get him to drink something,” she says, placing a cool, oblong object into your hand.

You help Dave sit up, having him lean against your shoulder, and unscrew the cap of the bottle. “Can you drink a little for me?” you say, pressing it to his lips.

He opens his mouth and you gently tip the bottle up, watching him swallow and making sure you don’t give him too much at a time. When he’s finished about half the bottle, he shakes his head, and you give the rest back to Rose.

Dave’s eyes seem to be almost fluttering closed. With clumsy, uncoordinated movements, he lifts his hand and presses it against your cheek. “Karkat,” he murmurs.

You take his hand and give it a squeeze. “I’m here,” you say.

Over the course of the next few minutes, Dave’s breath slowly starts to even out, and he slips into a doze. You wrap an arm around his middle and stare down at a chest that is just as scar-marked as his back.

You can also see his odd human genitalia, but you’re trying to ignore that. He’s your _moirail_.

Rose sighs in what sounds like relief, and leans back on a pillow next to you. “Well,” she says. “That escalated a bit more quickly than normal, but it also settled down faster. And he was much more lucid and coherent than last time. I’m hoping those are all good signs. At the very least, we managed to get a full bottle of water in him. If we can keep that up, he might not be dangerously dehydrated by the end.”

You take a deep breath. “Dave said this isn’t normal, and I know movies lie but I’ve watched plenty of human romcoms at this point, and I’ve never seen anything like this.” You turn to her. “So why is this happening to him?”

Rose’s eyes flash with an emotion you recognize, because you feel it yourself: unadulterated hatred and disgust. “Because Dave’s ‘brother’ is a piece of _shit,_ ” she snarls.

In your lap, Dave whimpers and shifts. Rose looks pained for a second, and then closes her eyes and breathes deeply.

“Sorry,” she says a minute later, her voice much calmer. “He’s very sensitive to emotional scent changes when he’s in heat. I have to work quite hard to manage the anger.”

“I already know his Bro was a piece of shit,” you say, a growl rumbling out of your chest. “I want to know what he _did._ ” You trace the ridged path of a scar across Dave’s shoulder. “Other than the obvious.”

“He gave Dave a trauma bond,” Rose says. “And given it’s been over a year since the bastard died, he had to have done it when Dave was _quite_ young.”

“He told me he was ten,” you say.

Rose goes very, very still. Dave starts to whimper in your lap, and you card your fingers through his hair. Beside you, Rose lets out a very deliberate, very slow breath, and then reaches over to touch his cheek. Under her gentle touch, Dave stills.

Rose returns her hands primly to her lap, sitting up very straight and staring straight ahead. “If Dave’s brother weren’t already dead,” she says, almost _pleasantly_ , “I would kill the man myself.”

“Not if I got to him first,” you say. “What’s a trauma bond, and why does ten make it so much worse?” You remember the mental math you did yesterday when Dave explained it to you. “I mean, it _is_ somewhere between four and five sweeps and that’s just _sick_ , but…”

“A trauma bond is a bond formed when the bondee is under extreme physical or mental duress, or very young. Which, given the circumstances under which a bond forms, counts as mental duress,” Rose says. “They cause the bondee to become biologically dependent on their mate’s hormones. And the younger a child is when the bond takes, the longer the dependency lasts. When Dave says he _needs_ his Bro— that’s not entirely psychological.”

“I thought all bondmates need their mate’s hormones?” you say. “In romcoms—”

“Well, yes, for a given definition of _need,_ ” Rose says. “Popular media tends to exaggerate the effects of a normal bond. Generally speaking, losing or missing a bondmate during a heat or rut is somewhat unpleasant, and people do crave their mates, but in the same way I might crave a burger or steak when iron-deficient. It is hardly a _dire need_ that I _cannot live without._ ”

You both glance down at Dave, sleeping fitfully. “I mean, he’s clearly living without his Bro,” you say.

Rose sighs deeply. “Trauma bonds interfere with several key hormones related to love and pleasure,” she says. “Oxytocin, serotonin, dopamine— I would hazard a guess, given the length of time he was bonded to his brother, that it’s very difficult for Dave to simply be _happy_ without him.”

In some ways, you already knew that. You’ve spent enough time just hanging out with Dave over the past year to notice how rarely he seems actually content. It still _hurts_ , to hear that your moirail is chronically unhappy straight from someone who knows what they’re talking about. “Is there anything I can do to help?” you say.

“You’ve already done quite a bit,” Rose says, looking down at Dave’s sleeping form. “You’ve offered alternate sources of those hormones than the ones his brother provided. What he needs more than anything is to keep being offered friendship and love until his body can flush his bondmate’s hormones out of his system.” Her eyes turn dark, and hard. “However long that takes.”

You gently stroke Dave’s cheek, and watch as he leans into the touch.

“I can do that,” you say.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dear Rose: Thank you for being incredibly knowledgeable about the mental/hormonal disorders of your fictional universe, so that you can be my expository infodumping mouthpiece. It's so nice to have someone who can actually *do* that while staying in-character.


	16. Morning After

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dave wakes up in Karkat's arms, in the aftermath of his heat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not much to say about this chapter; no major warnings or anything, apart from the usual trauma, etc. Actually it's a bit tamer than usual, imho.

You wake up sweaty, sore, starving, and nestled safely in Karkat’s arms. His chest is pressed firmly against your back, his hands on your waist, his chin resting on your shoulder. You can hear the faint, familiar sounds of him snoring into your ear.

You’re also buck naked, but as far as you can tell, Karkat doesn’t seem to care. Then again, he’s clearly fast asleep, so it’s not like he has a lot of brainpower to care __with__ right now.

Something jostles the mattress, and you realize that whatever it is, it’s the reason you’re awake. You pry open your eyes, feeling the crust of dried mucus and tears crack as you do so.

Rose stands in front of you, stretching her arms and leaning to one side. For a second, you just lay there and watch her, content that your pack is here, taking care of you.

That’s when you realize that your heat must be over, because if Rose is the only person you need to feel like your pack is with you, the craving for your Bro must have tapered off.

She turns, notices that you’re awake, and smiles gently down at you, leaning over to brush a few stray hairs out of your face, scent-marking you as she does so. You sigh, press your cheek into her hand as that sweet, flowery scent fills your lungs, covers your skin. You like the way Rose smells, and you think you’d like smelling like her even if she wasn’t your pack.

“How are we feeling this morning?” Rose asks softly, so as not to wake Karkat.

“Pretty good,” you answer in the same quiet tone. “I’m— I’m actually pretty good. How long have I been out?”

Usually you don’t feel this good, this contented, until __days__ after your heat ends, but you also usually remember the intervening hours, at least in part, so you’re not really sure what’s up with that.

Rose looks pleased, almost smug. “About twelve hours, give or take.”

“I— __What?”__ you say. “Are you fucking serious?”

Twelve hours? Only __twelve__ hours?

Rose nods, her hand still resting on your face. “There were a few hours before that where you were somewhat incoherent, but your heat was finished,” she says. “Then you fell asleep, and slept quietly for twelve hours.”

“So, less than eighteen hours of withdrawal total?” you say. “That’s—”

That’s, like, __half__ of what your recovery has been for the past two heats. You’d thought 36 hours was about as low as you were going to be able to get it.

Rose nods again. “Quite possibly less than that, since it seems you stopped experiencing withdrawal symptoms in your sleep,” she says. “But I wasn’t really paying attention, since I was sleeping as well.”

“I— what changed?” you ask.

At that moment, Karkat snores loudly in your ear, as if in answer to your question. His grip tightens a little on your hip, and he presses his pelvis closer to your ass.

Rose gives you a knowing smirk. You can feel your face heating up.

“He’s my __moirail,”__ you say defensively. “It’s— he’s like pack.” Given the honey-strawberry-whipped-cream scent clinging to him, he still feels more like a nest to your brain, than proper pack, but Rose doesn’t need to know that.

“Mm-hmm,” Rose hums in sardonic agreement. “That’s certainly why he’s spooning you with your ass pressed to his hips while you’re naked.”

 _ _“Yes__ , it __is__ ,” you snap. “What did you think I was doing with __you__ for the past year?”

Her face falls, a bit, and she loses the smirk. “Well— we didn’t exactly spoon,” she says.

“Maybe that’s why it’s taken me days to recover,” you snip.

Which isn’t fair to her, you __know__ it isn’t, you’re ninety percent certain that the spooning has nothing to do with how quick it’s been this time around. But you also feel safe like this, with Karkat’s arms bracketed around you, in a way you never felt with your head resting on Rose’s chest or lap.

Abruptly, you remember that this is the position Bro held you in the first time he knotted you.

You swallow hard and try to banish the memory. That’s not what this feels like. For one, Karkat’s a lot shorter than Bro was, compared to your ten-year-old body.

You really don’t want to think about it anymore.

Rose probably smells your distress, because she looks concerned, and once more places her hand on your face, the scent-mark soothing you. You turn your head til your lips brush her skin and sigh shakily into her palm.

“I’m sorry,” Rose whispers. You shake your head.

“‘S not your fault.” You hide your face in her hand so she can’t look at your eyes and read the emotion in them.

“Will you be all right if I leave?” Rose asks.

You just nod, the weird lump in your throat making it too difficult to speak without an embarrassing croak. She considers you in silence for a moment.

“Will you have a sip of water before I go?”

She holds the bottle for you as you drink, and you discover that you’re thirstier than you thought you would be. After you gulp down about half of it, she screws the lid back on and places it on your bedside table. Then she stands, smoothing down her dress, picks up her now-empty pack, and smiles at you once more.

“I’ll see you later, Dave,” she says.

“Bye,” you whisper, as she leaves.

And then it’s just you and Karkat, with you lying naked in his arms.

He shifts unconsciously in his sleep, sliding his hands across your middle and squeezing you, instead of just resting on your hips. It’s __stupid__ how good that feels, to have his thick, strong arms caging your body in, to have him holding you, protecting you from harm.

You remind yourself firmly that Karkat’s not an Alpha, even as you sink into his heat, sliding your shoulders against the incredibly soft fabric on his sweater.

You probably only lie there with him for about half an hour, but it seems like forever, listening to the gentle breaths and soft snores, feeling the rise and fall of his chest, the warmth of his skin where his hands touch your torso. It’s relaxing, to know he’s there, so much so that you slip into a doze, about to fall back asleep yourself.

Then Karkat makes a little snorting noise and jerks his head, and you know from past experience that means he’s about to wake up. (And it’s almost __intimate__ , isn’t it, that you know him well enough, that you’ve slept with him enough times to __know__ his quirks and sleeping habits and the sound he makes when waking?)

Sure enough, a few seconds later he stirs, stretching, and takes in a big breath. His arms tighten around you, and he pulls you deliberately to his chest, hugging you close.

“Morning, Karkat,” you say, feeling your cheeks flush with heat, suddenly very aware of your nudity, the fact that there is no barrier at all between your skin and his, that your dick is just flopping around out in the open where he could glance down and look at it at any point in time.

You guess you can count yourself lucky you don’t have morning wood today. You still squirm uncomfortably, trying to find a position not too different from your current one that hides your dick from Karkat’s view.

Karkat’s response to your squirming is to release you, unlocking his hands from around you and scooting back a little bit. You almost whine at the loss, the way your skin goes suddenly cold everywhere he had been touching you. You can’t hide the slight shiver that runs down your spine.

“Good morning, I guess,” Karkat says, yawning. “God, it’s still so fucking weird to say that right after waking up.”

“Yeah, well, you’re in my bedroom, so we go by human time measurements,” you say breezily. trying to cover how flustered you feel.

“You say good morning when we sleep in my room, too,” Karkat points out grumpily, sitting up and stretching. The blanket slips down off of him, and you feel the fabric brush against your back and shoulders.

You don’t move, hiding your naked body under the covers. “Yeah, well, force of habit,” you joke.

You’re currently facing away from him, but you can almost __see__ the way Karkat frowns at you, feeling his gaze rake down your back. “Are you okay, Dave?” he says, running a hand over your shoulder.

Deliberately, you force yourself to relax. It’s Karkat, it’s __just Karkat__ , he’s your moirail, he’s here for you, he’s not going to judge you.

“Yeah, dude,” you say, a little shakily. “I’m actually kind of __amazingly__ okay, under the circumstances, and that’s pretty much one hundred percent thanks to you. I’m just. You know, totally naked, under the covers here.”

“Right,” Karkat says, sounding half-strangled. “Here, let me…”

Then he’s crawling over your body, almost apologetically, reaching the edge of the bed and sliding off. He faces out into the center of the room, arms crossed in front of his chest.

“You can go ahead and change, I won’t look,” he says.

As quietly and quickly as you can, you decaptchalogue your god-tier jammies and slip them on, feeling weirdly hot and shamefaced.

“Okay,” you say, when you’re decent.

Karkat turns around, a tentative smile on his face, and you feel like you just got punched in the solar plexus, all the breath leaving you in a rush of air.

His crooked smile and round nubby teeth look so... _gentle_. The soft contours of his face bulge around the grin, and little dimples appear in his cheeks. His black hair is as messy and disheveled as it always is, but it also catches the light, creating an almost halo-like backlighting effect around his head. His startling yellow eyes fold into squinting crescent shapes, staring at you with the softest expression you’ve ever seen on him.

He looks __gorgeous__ , standing there in the sleepy morning hours, watching you. Subconsciously, you lick your lips, and find that you’d like nothing more right now than to kiss that smiling mouth.

Oh fuck.

You think you’re attracted to Karkat.


	17. A Major Fucking Problem

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dave deals with his newly discovered attraction to Karkat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some mild internalized homophobia in this chapter, but honestly, it's pretty fucking tame for me.

Okay, so, there’s gotta be a reasonable explanation for the fact that you kinda wanna grab Karkat by his ears and kiss him senseless. You know, other than being gay, because you’re not. You like girls and you like Alphas, so you’re definitely, totally, for sure, 100% straight.

The obvious answer is, of course, the lingering effects of your heat hormones. It wasn’t gay when you asked him to fuck you in the middle of your heat, because according to Rose you’re addicted to your Bro and you just want _anything_ to get your next fix. Under normal circumstances, you wouldn’t want to have sex with Karkat at all.

The fact that you kind of want to nibble his collarbones and lick up and down his chest is almost certainly entirely due to your heat. Great, question answered, now you can just ignore those silly little hormone-driven urges.

When it’s two weeks out and you still catch yourself fantasizing about his lips and the Omega-soft curves of his body, you don’t think you can blame the hormones anymore.

Okay. So. You might be genuinely attracted to Karkat, and you have no idea what to do with that.

On the one hand, you kind of want to lose your shit, because that’s fucking _gay,_ and you can picture the look on Bro’s face if he found out you were interested in some Beta guy. Even thinking about it makes your heart start to race and your palms grow slick with sweat.

But you’re also pretty sure now that that’s how Bro would have reacted if he’d caught you with _anybody_ other than him, gay or not. Because he was a possessive freak who didn’t love you, who just wanted to use your body for his sick, twisted pleasure. Hell, you weren’t even allowed to leave the apartment without him, he probably would have strangled the life out of you just for having a _pack._

And, like. The trolls almost universally are attracted to both boys and girls, despite being essentially Betas, and the only one who isn’t is Kanaya, who is a gigantic fucking lesbian. And Rose is into Kanaya. And the Mayor doesn’t give a shit about who you like. And Karkat’s been riding your ass for literal months about your reflexive gay panic reaction.

So maybe… maybe it doesn’t matter, that you like Karkat. Maybe your attraction isn’t actually a problem.

Except it is. Your attraction to Karkat is a major fucking problem, and it’s got nothing to do with human bullshit and everything to do with _troll_ bullshit.

Because it’s starting to really get in the way of your moirallegiance.

Karkat has made it perfectly clear that liking someone in more than one quadrant at once is like, a big no-no. Sure, he loves vacillation in his romcoms, but he _hates_ the weird possessive characters who want the protagonist all to themselves.

And if there’s one thing you’ve learned from the less com-y and more rom-y movies, it’s that a one-sided vacillation, especially from pale to flushed, is a recipe for disaster.

And, well. Moirallegiance involves a lot of cuddling, and every time you plop down in a pile, you find yourself completely distracted by the feeling of Karkat’s body against yours. You’ve been trying to keep it down, maintain at least an emotional distance, but you don’t know if you can when Karkat is literally pressed against you from chest to thigh.

“Okay, this is completely unacceptable,” Karkat says one day while you’re curled up in your nest. “Clearly we need to fucking talk about this.”

“About what?” you say, curling away from him slightly. Karkat lets out an exasperated scoff.

“This!” he says, gesturing up and down your body and at the very small space between your faces. “This weird _tension_ that’s been happening between us. What the fuck is going on, dude?”

_I’m sexually attracted to you and I don’t know how to feel about it_. Yeah, that’s definitely not a phrase that’s actually going to pass your lips.

You let out a noisy breath and run your fingers through your hair. “Sorry, man, I’m just dealing with some personal shit,” you say. “It’s not your problem.”

“Dave,” Karkat says, voiced tinged with irritation.

Guiltily, you turn to meet his gaze. “What?”

Karkat gives you an unimpressed look. “Did you just forget? Or are you being an asshole on purpose?”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” you say, trying to wrack your brain for anything that might be relevant to the situation.

“We’re _moirails_ , Dave. A big part of that is helping each other work through the personal shit.” He sits up, crossing his arms. “If this isn’t— if it’s not working for you—”

You grab his arm in a panic, stopping him from speaking. “No, shit, Karkat, I genuinely didn’t think about it like that,” you say.

You love being his moirail. The problem is you also want to be his matesprit, and you know that won’t go down well.

“The thing is, Dave, it’s a two-way street,” Karkat says, grumbling. “I know you’ve been there for me a lot, and we’ve talked about a ton of my stuff, but I’m supposed to be here for you, too. Just be fucking honest with me and let me _help_ you, okay?” He looks you in the eye, and you feel like he can see right through your shades. “I want to help.”

God, his eyes are so pretty, the slightly cat-like pupil widening as he looks down at you, his long black lashes curling out from the upper lids. You’d like to pull him down and kiss those eyes, feel his skin flutter beneath your lips.

But also, you can’t tell him that.

“I dunno if you can, dude,” you mutter.

Karkat bites his lip, and god, _that’s_ not helping with your whole issue here at _all._

“Dave,” he says, and his voice sounds a little weak, like he’s about to cry or something, and your heart fucking breaks. “If I can’t— If I can’t _help_ with your emotional problems, then you need to get a better moirail. I know I’m really not, like, anyone’s top choice—”

You put a hand over his mouth and he goes silent.

“No, stop, shoosh,” you say. “You’re a great fucking moirail, Karkat, don’t let anyone tell you different, not even yourself.” Then you take a deep breath, and say, “The reason I don’t know if I can talk to you about it is because it’s kind of about you.”

Karkat’s eyes widen slightly. “Oh,” he says. “Is this about the whole gay thing?”

You laugh, a little, under your breath. “Yeah, kinda, I guess,” you say. “I’m not really sure I know how to describe it? But the gay thing is part of it.”

Karkat nods, and settles down into the nest with you, wrapping his arm around your shoulders. You hum, and snuggle closer to him, enjoying the feel of his body against yours, the comfort of having your smell on him.

“Okay, I can see why maybe I wouldn’t be the greatest reference, there,” he says. “I mean, I don’t know how well you’d do with hemospectrum stuff, just cuz you’re not a troll.”

“Yeah,” you say. “There’s a lot of shit I don’t know how to deal with because I’m not a troll.”

“But I thought we’d decided that moirails were just like pack members?” Karkat continues, basically ignoring your interruption. “And that makes it not gay, so you’re fine, right?”

You bite your lip. “Uh, so the thing is,” you say, a little quietly. “Well, there’s two things. Thing One and Thing Two, like Cat in the Hat, which, you know, those little freaks are basically inseparable, so they’re related things, and I can’t let one balance on some fucking beach ball without setting the other down on top of it and—”

“Dave stop fucking rambling and tell me what the things are.”

“Um.” You drop your eyes down to the 69 symbol on his chest, and your fingers find a wrinkle of fabric in his sweater, pinching it and rolling it back and forth between thumb and index finger. “Okay so thing number one is, uh. I kinda think moirails _aren’t_ just pack members?”

Karkat blinks. “Explain?”

“There’s a lot more, like, honesty and feelings and shit with moirails than with packs.” You’re still picking at the wrinkles of his clothing. There’s a tiny hole, and it’s starting to fray, and you run the tips of your fingers along the ragged edges. “Like. I wouldn’t have told my Bro half of the shit I’ve told you.”

Karkat growls, and his arms tighten around you. “Fucking _good_ ,” he snarls. “I’d fucking kill myself if I were anything like that absolute shitstain.”

“Okay, bad example,” you say, because really don’t want to talk about Bro right now, not with Karkat’s gorgeous eyes staring down at you and his lips mere inches from yours. “I wouldn’t tell _Rose_ most of the shit I tell you.”

You glance up just in time to see the smug, incredibly pleased smile spread over his face. You punch him lightly.

“Don’t go getting a big head about it,” you tell him. “I’m just stating facts, okay? Packs clearly aren’t identical to moirallegiance.”

Karkat nods. “I’m with you so far,” he says.

“Yeah, so, I’ve been thinking about it a lot and, I think moirails actually _are_ romantic, even for humans?” The words come out all in a rush. “Like, not just pack but actually, you know, someone you’re basically in love with? Or maybe romance is the wrong word but—”

A frown line is slowly growing between Karkat’s eyebrows. “But I thought you weren’t gay,” he says.

Your throat goes dry.

“Yeah, uh, that’s, sort of, thing two,” you say, voice rasping. “I might— I might not be as straight as I thought.”

Karkat frowns slightly as he looks down at you. “So that’s the problem? You’re realizing you might be gay, because you’re romantically attracted to me? Because we’re moirails?”

You bite your lip. That’s _kinda_ the truth, honestly, it’s really close, and you don’t _have_ to tell him that moirails ain’t all you want.

But if you lie, you won’t solve the issue of the _distance_ between you. You’ll still be awkward and unsure every time he touches you, get lost in his lovely yellow eyes and then feel guilty about it and look away.

“Actually,” you say. “Actually it’s because. I think. Maybe I don’t want to be moirails?”

There’s a moment of confusion, and then Karkat’s eyes widen. He pulls back from you slightly, a look of— it’s not quite concern, and it’s not quite fear, but what you just said is unexpected and a tiny bit alarming.

“Are you— what are you saying?” he demands, grabbing the front of your shirt roughly and pulling you up to his face.

You give him a grin that even you can tell is weak and shaky. “I think. I kinda want to be in the hearts box, instead of the diamonds one.”

Karkat breathes out a long sigh, and his eyes widen in something like awe. “You’re vacillating flushed,” he says.

You nod, unable to speak.

Karkat lets out a little laugh and almost falls forward, resting his forehead on your collarbone. “Oh thank _fuck_ , I was afraid it was just me,” he says.

Hope suffuses your heart. “Yeah?” you say, putting a hint of cockiness back into your tone. “You wanna get all up on this hot Strider action?”

Karkat rolls his eyes and puts his hand against your face. “Shut the fuck up,” he says, and then leans down to kiss you.

His lips are warmer than you’re expecting, slightly rough from where they’re chapped. You realize you’ve never really kissed anyone like this before, and for half a second you falter.

Karkat notices your hesitation and pulls back from you, but before he can get too far, your brain catches up.

You surge forward, grabbing him by the back of the head and kissing him, letting your lips brush over his. It’s true that you still don’t _really_ know what you’re doing, but it feels good, to touch him like this, to _smell_ the scent of yourself on his skin, and your chest is on fire with joy.

When you both finally break the kiss to gasp for air, Karkat has the giddiest grin on his face. It makes him look so soft, this smile you’ve only seen a few times before, pure joy and happiness, and you love him so much you just have to surge forward and kiss him again, rolling him over onto his back.

As you kiss Karkat, eventually moving to mouth along his jaw and across his cheeks, listening to his breathless gasps of pleasure, you don’t think you’ve ever been more happy in your life.

“God, Karkat,” you gasp out. “I fucking love you.”

“I love you too,” he says.


	18. Stricken

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dave has an awkward encounter in a dream bubble, and then things get _worse._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> happy new year y'all. editing and rewriting this chapter kicked my ass but i'm pretty sure the next few will be easier and come out more frequently.

Dream bubbles continue to be fucking weird as hell.

For one thing, you still haven’t figured out how to tell whether you’re _really_ asleep or not if you’ve “woken up” into one of them, and for another, you still haven’t worked up the courage to ask Rose whether dying in the dream means you die in real life if your physical body is the one that dies.

More often than not, these days, when you find yourself in a dream bubble, you seem to gravitate towards Karkat.

Today you’re trapped in yet another oddly colorful void, with sort of indiscriminate pinkish ground that looks rocky. There’s a vague shape of what might be mountains in the distance, as well as a familiar figure. You can hear his loud grumbling from all the way out here.

He looks over as you approach, and you give him a casual wave. “Sup, Kitkat,” you say. You can’t hide your smile, and you don’t think you’d want to even if you could.

“Don’t fucking call me that,” Karkat says, rolling his eyes, but he’s smiling too, one hand reaching out towards you. You think you’ve seen him smile more in the past two weeks since you’ve been matesprits than you have in the entire meteor trip, and it makes your chest feel warm to know _you_ put it there.

You take the offered hand, and Karkat uses it to pull the two of you closer together, tilting his face up towards yours. His eyebrows quirk, half in question, half in invitation.

You answer and accept by closing the distance between your mouths and sealing your lips together in a kiss.

You meant for it to be a quick hello kiss, but then, you don’t think the two of you have yet managed a quick hello kiss, because every single time, you get lost in the warmth of Karkat’s lips, the feel of him there in front of you. You have permission now to taste and to touch and you don’t have to feel guilty for enjoying this.

When you finally break the kiss, Karkat’s eyes are shining, his smile gentle and giddy, and his face is flushed red. There was a time not so long ago that he would have been terrified to let anyone see him blushing, but he trusts you enough to let himself feel around you.

“Hey,” you say, dopily, still smiling and feeling sappy as hell and fucking _enjoying_ it.

“Hey, yourself,” he says back, almost as fondly.

There’s a surreptitious clearing of the throat from behind you, and you manage _not_ to flinch and drop Karkat’s hand like a hot potato, glancing defiantly over your shoulder and squeezing him tighter.

You are completely unsurprised to see Rose standing there, grinning smugly like the cat that got the fucking canary. You are somewhat more surprised to see Kanaya, Vriska, and Terezi _also_ standing there, since it’s pretty rare for all of you to show up in the same dream bubble at the same time, even when the meteor is physically passing through it.

Hell, you even see the _Mayor_ standing there with his little firefly friend, and that’s what has you pretty firmly convinced that you’re physically inside a bubble now. You’ve never seen the Mayor in a dream-dream before.

You try to let go of Karkat’s hand casually, like it’s no big deal, like your heart _isn’t_ beating twice as fast because you got caught kissing and acting all gay.

“Well,” you drawl, stuffing your hands in your pockets in an attempt to be cool. “I didn’t realize we had an audience. Enjoy the show?”

Terezi wolf-whistles in response, and Karkat flips her off. You have to bite the inside of your cheek to suppress your laughter.

“Pffffffff,” Vriska scoffs, and you can hear all eight of those Fs. “Can we get a move on? I know you’d like to waste your time like wigglers, but we’ve gotta get a move on if we’re gonna make it in time.”

“In time for what?” you say.

“Don’t ask, you’ll just encourage her,” Karkat says, almost before you’re finished speaking.

“I’ve explained this before, Vriska,” Rose says. “Time and space don’t work the same way out here. It is literally impossible for us to be late, as where we are going also dictates the time we arrive.”

“Doesn’t mean we have to stand around watching some dumbasses kiss!” Vriska announces. “Let’s get going, people!” She marches off.

You glance at Karkat, who sighs exasperatedly, gives you a shrug, and then follows her. You trail along, bringing up the rear, only picking up speed enough to let your hand dangle near his. He takes the hint and locks your fingers together, and you smile again.

As you come cresting over some kind of hill or something, you see, floating a few feet off of the ground and snoring outrageously, the teenage version of your mom. Rose’s mom. Both your moms. Mom. Whatever.

There’s also some weird pink fishy-looking troll, hefting a trident and looking like she’s about ready to harpoon Teen Mom.

“Hey,” you start, about to warn her off, cuz sure, you don’t know her, but that’s _your_ teen mom’s sleeping dream bod she’s threatening there.

Vriska cuts you off before you can finish.

“Meenah!” she says, somewhere in between cheerfully deranged and threateningly manic, “Meenah Peixes!”

Pink troll fish girl turns her head. “Vriska?” she says, sounding confused. “Water you doing here?”

You bend over just slightly so you can whisper in Karkat’s ear. “Friend of yours?”

“What? No!” Karkat says, in a whisper that isn’t actually a whisper because he’s too goddamn loud. “I have no idea who that is! Are you insinuating that all trolls know each other?”

“I mean,” you say, shrugging nonchalantly. “In this reality, that’s been kinda true so far?”

Karkat opens his mouth, raises a single finger, realizes he doesn’t have a fucking leg to stand on, here, and shuts his mouth again with a little growl of frustration that you find absolutely fucking adorable.

There is some kind of conversation happening between Vriska and whoever the fuck Meenah is over somewhere, but you and Karkat are completely and willfully ignoring it. As far as you can tell, Rose is ignoring it, too. Terezi might be paying a bit more attention, and Kanaya is kind of hovering in between the two groups..

You only look up when another dead troll (who looks _suspiciously_ like Vriska) wanders in, dragging a human kid with her. A human kid with dark hair and square glasses and a rather familiar goofy set of buck teeth.

You lean over towards Rose. “Hey, Rose,” you whisper. “Who’s the John-looking kid?”

She gives you a slight smile as you lean back. “I believe that’s young father-granddad Harleybert.”

Karkat makes a frustrated sound. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” he says.

“It means that his genes contributed to half the DNA of both John and Jade,” she says. “In much the same way that the snoozing blonde contributed to my and Dave’s DNA.” 

“Right,” you say, glancing over at her. “Should we like. Try to wake her up?”

Rose hums and cocks her head to one side, contemplating your mom. Can you call her your mom? What if you mean your in like, the plural sense? You know, _ustedes_ instead of _tu?_

“Strictly speaking, I don’t think it’s possible to wake her up,” Rose says, her tone musing.

“Why not? You woke me up just fine,” you say.

“Technically speaking, you were already awake, you simply weren’t aware of it,” Rose begins, but Karkat cuts her off before she can really start lecturing.

“Why would you even _want_ to?” Karkat says.

“I dunno, man,” you say. “Wouldn’t you be curious about your ancestors and shit?”

Karkat crosses his arms. “No.”

You find your gaze drifting back over to her. “I dunno,” you say, so quietly you’re not sure if any of them can hear you. “I’ve always kinda wanted a mom.”

Rose doesn’t really react, but Karkat makes a noise that you can’t quite identify, before he’s reaching out to grab your hand, gently squeezing your fingers in sympathy. You squeeze back, wanting to whisper _I love you_ but knowing it would be way too fucking awkward with Rose right there.

The tender moment is broken when Vriska’s harsh voice calls out, “Hey, what are you losers doing? You’re missing everything! Get over here!”

“Are we actually missing anything?” you mutter under your breath. The question was rhetorical, but Rose answers anyway.

“No,” she says. “Only some more details about alternate timelines, which are only tangentially relevant to our own.”

“So, more Light bullshit,” Karkat says, and you squash down a snicker.

“Yes, indeed,” Rose drawls, taking on an accent so over-the-top posh it almost makes you fucking lose it. “More Light bullshit.”

Still, the three of you wander over closer to the little group of mostly-trolls, where Vriska is still talking excitedly with dead blue spider troll, and the John-looking kid has taken on a glazed expression. Your heart goes out to the guy, it really does.

Even when Rose and Karkat start to get wrapped up in the conversation that’s happening, you find your mind drifting, watching the guy— what did Rose call him again? “Young Father-Grandad Harleybert?”

That’s a fucking mouthful, so you’re just gonna call him The Guy until further notice.

The Guy keeps glancing off to the side, like he can see someone there that no one else can, which is weird, except then you notice that Terezi keeps sniffing that general direction as well, so you think maybe there _is_ somebody else there that none of you can see, which makes you kinda want to say something loudly about invisible people in the room just to see what happens.

Except then The Guy gets a weird expression on his face, and fixates on pink fish troll. He starts muttering something under his breath, and then, out of fucking nowhere, he screams, “TAKE THAT YOU EVIL SEA HAG,” and fucking _decks_ her.

The next thing you know, The Guy and Pink Sea Troll are rolling over each other on the floor, Guy screaming nonsensical things like “FISH HITLER” and “THIS IS FOR HUMANITY” and you just kinda. Stare.

When he pops out of existence a second later, you turn to meet Karkat’s gaze, and you simultaneously mouth _“What the fuck?”_ at each other.

The Serkets, plural (apparently), start having some kind of fit, discussions and arguments and fuck-knows what else are beginning to happen around you, pink fish troll girl is laying on the ground and just staring into the sky and you know what? You’ve had enough of this. If Vriska really needs you to know what the fuck is going on here, she can fucking explain it herself.

Surreptitiously, you sidle up to Karkat. “Hey,” you say, “What do you say you and I—”

Before you can finish the sentence, a wave of familiar scent hits you, sends you reeling dizzily, almost knocking you off your damn feet.

It’s the scent of new leather, and motor oil, and menthol cigarettes.

Your brain screams at you. Your Alpha is here, the Alpha that you haven’t seen in literal years has finally come, he’s finally going to scent-mark you and take care of you the way you need, the way you crave.

A different part of your brain screams that you’re in a romantic relationship with a Beta boy and the scent of Rose clings to your skin, and Bro will know and he’s going to kill you for it.

You see Karkat’s eyes widen. “Dave?” he says, reaching out for you.

You flinch away from him, breathing hard, and instead turn towards the source of that scent.

A tall, skinny blond boy is standing next to Terezi, his extremely cool triangle shades covering his face so that you can’t see any of his expression. You’re too far away and too unpracticed at reading his scent to tell whether he’s furious or amused or just nonplussed.

You almost don’t believe this can possibly be your Bro. He’s too thin, bony where your Bro was fucking jacked, his chin and jaw pointed and jutting where Bro’s was impressively square and thick. But you’d recognize that cool, determined stance, the hard line of his mouth, and those black fingerless gloves anywhere.

Plus, scent doesn’t lie, and you’re only barely holding yourself back from beelining straight for him, drawn like a moth to a flame.

You feel a bit sick to your stomach, staring in muted horror at him.

Your teenaged Bro raises a hand as if to wave. “Alright, uh, hey everyone,” he says, voice so completely deadpan it sounds almost robotic. “So here’s the thing. I have to go, like, right now.”

You watch, uncomprehending, as he floats up into the air, heading for Teen Mom.

“All of my friends are either dead, or lying on the ground unconscious, including me. So I have to try to wake up and fix everything,” he continues, in his deadpan voice, still not showing any emotion on his face. “Sorry I can't hang around your bubble and shoot the breeze for a while. It's not like I don't want to. I guess I have to be this huge fucking wet blanket as usual because there's stuff that needs doin'.”

You… you can _hear_ Bro’s cadence in his voice, the lazy Texan drawl threading through his words, lax and slow, the way it always was right before he beat your ass into the floor. You can see it in the way he moves, sharp and fast and precise, the world’s most efficient predator. It sends chills up and down your back, and your hands itch to grab your sword.

Meanwhile, scent curls around you, new leather and motor oil and cigarettes, gripping you in its deadly embrace like Cal’s noodly puppet arms.

He says some more stuff, but you stop listening, your heartbeat rapid, breath coming short and shallow, almost hyperventilating.

Fuck, you need your Alpha so fucking much that you can barely breathe, even as your body begins to tremble with remembered terror.

You keep your eyes trained on him as he flies to the edge of the bubble and chucks Rose’s mom through it. It’s not until he disappears suddenly in a burst of light, his scent vanishing just as suddenly, that you slump forward, your shoulders quaking, and take in a deep, shuddering breath.

“Dave?” Karkat says again.

You grab his hand. _“Karkat,”_ you say, desperate, terrified. You feel like every eye is on you. “Fuck, I have to get out of here.”

And then you turn and _run_ , tugging him along behind you.

The dream bubble blurs around the two of you, changing color and shape unpredictably. You don’t stop to let it focus, just tearing through the mutable landscape as fast as you can, intent on getting as far away from your Bro as possible.

From your _Alpha._

When you’ve run so hard that your chest is starting to burn with every breath you suck in, you finally stumble to a stop. The blurry, indistinct form of the dream bubble finally solidifies around you.

You’re standing on a rooftop in Texas, with the sun beating down high overhead.

You almost scream.

“Dave! _Dave!”_ Karkat’s voice breaks through to your fevered mind, and you can hear him gasping, too. “Dave, what the _fuck.”_

You can’t speak. Instead, a high, wordless keening noise forces itself out of your throat and you sink to your knees. Your hand slips away from Karkat’s.

For a few minutes, there’s nothing but silence, your knees pressing into the searing cement. You can feel the tears trickle down your face.

Finally, you gasp out, _“Karkat,”_ and reach towards him, looking for help, for comfort, for _something_ to ground you.

Karkat steps away from your outstretched hand.

Incredulously, you look up. “Karkat?” you say, searching his face.

He looks pained, an indecisive grimace twisting his face. One hand is pulled halfway to his chest, as though unsure whether he actually wants to touch you or not.

You know Karkat has no scent, and yet somehow, you can practically _taste_ the salty ash of his disgust on your tongue.

“Dave,” he says, voice rough and low. “We’re not— I’m not your moirail anymore.”

“What?” you say. “Who the fuck _cares_ , Karkat, I’m— I— I _need_ you.”

Karkat takes another step backwards, shaking his head slowly. Is that a flash of fear you see in his eyes?

“Dave, I _can’t,”_ he says. “This is— It would be so _wrong._ We’re matesprits, matesprits don’t do that kind of thing.”

You’ve started shaking.

“So _fuck_ beingmatesprits,” you say. “Let’s go back to be moirails for one fucking day. One fucking _hour._ ”

Karkat’s mouth presses into a thin line. “That’s not how it works, Dave,” he says, voice shaking slightly. “That’s not how _any_ of this works. If we’re matesprits we’re not supposed to _want_ each other like that. You can’t— this is _wrong.”_

You need Karkat, you need your _nest_ , your walking talking safe space, more than you can breathe, and he doesn’t _want_ you. He’s _rejecting_ you.

“Please,” you whisper, curling in on yourself. “I’m sorry, please, Karkat, I need—”

You don’t know whether he’s on the verge of crying, or screaming at you.

“I _can’t_ ,” Karkat finally says.

And then he turns, and walks away.

And you sit there on that rooftop and shudder and shake and _sob_ , because you thought things were working out, and instead, it’s all gotten so much fucking worse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I KNOW I'M SORRY I KNOW I PROMISE THIS FIC HAS A HAPPY ENDING I _SWEAR._


	19. Permanently Broken Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Karkat apologizes, and yet, somehow, things _still_ get worse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Told y'all it would be quicker from now on! If you haven't read Chapter 18 yet, PLEASE make sure you go back and do so, or this chapter ain't gonna make a LICK of sense.

It’s hard to forgive Karkat, at first. Your chest physically aches with the feeling of betrayal.

But when Karkat finds you a day later, head bent, like a dog with his tail between his legs, you listen.

He sits down beside you on the couch, where you are mindlessly zoning out while watching Good Luck Chuck on repeat. For a little while, he watches silently with you, before saying, “Dave? Can you pause the movie? I want to…”

Karkat trails off, but you lean forward and slam the pause button anyway, before leaning back. Your face is a cool, blank mask, arms crossed, and you stare into the middle distance instead of looking at him. Looking at him hurts too much.

After a long, awkward moment of silence, you say, “So, are you gonna—”

However, that's also the exact instant that Karkat starts in with, “Dave I—”

You both break off abruptly. There’s another tense moment of silence where neither of you say anything, before you wave your hand magnanimously, indicating that he should continue.

Karkat lets out a slow breath. “I wanted to say I’m sorry,” he whispers, looking down at his lap and plucking at the fabric of his jeans. “I shouldn’t have— I shouldn’t have just _left_ you there. Like. Sure, acting like your moirail right then would have been super wrong, but maybe I should have waited until you were out of panic mode before just… leaving like that.”

“Maybe I should be the one who’s sorry,” you say, voice dripping with sarcasm. “For my panic attack getting its gross feelings all over your _delicate_ troll sensibilities.”

Karkat winces visibly, and you feel a small stab of guilt. After all, is this _really_ all that different from when you ran away with your tail tucked between your legs because being moirails was too fucking gay for your little brain to handle?

“I’m sorry,” Karkat says. “I know it’s not— I know it doesn’t _fix_ anything, but I’m sorry.”

He reaches out tentatively, resting his hand on the seat cushion beside you, bridging the gap halfway between your bodies. “I still want to be matesprits,” he says. “If you do.”

You sigh, and let your arms fall out of their tensed position. How can you possibly hold it against him? Karkat is your best friend, your fucking _rock,_ and he’s got as many issues as you have, if not more.

You let your hand fall to cover his, squeezing gently, and he interlaces your fingers and squeezes back.

“I mean. I love you, dude,” you say, honestly. You feel the heat rising in your face and wonder just how obvious your blush is. “But… I dunno if I can do this anymore.”

Karkat’s breath hitches, and he pulls his hand away. “I— Oh,” he says. “I guess… I guess that’s fair.” He turns his face away from you and makes movements as if it get up.

You sigh, reaching out and grabbing his hand, refusing to let him leave. “That’s not what I meant,” you say. “I still think you’re attractive as fuck, dude, like, I’ve told you before that you are _unfairly_ hot, it’s just that… Fuck, man, I just really miss being moirails.”

Karkat turns back to you, but his gaze is wary, his body language stiff. “Dave. That’s not— You can’t find me attractive _and_ want to be moirails. You’re just— you’re human, you’ve never had a moirail before me. You probably just want _a_ moirail, any moirail, not me, in particular.”

He says the last sentence almost like he’s trying to convince himself.

“Karkat, I’ve told you before, there’s shit I feel all right telling you I wouldn’t want to tell anyone else,” you say. “Not even Rose.”

Karkat bites his lip, drawing his hand away from yours, but he doesn’t get up to leave, so you allow it. “So, you’re not pale-compatible with anyone else on the meteor. That sucks for you, obviously, but like, that doesn’t mean that—”

You cut him off. “Seriously, Karkat, what is the _problem?”_ you say. “Why can’t we just, I dunno, do some highly regimented vacillation, or something? You love that shit in _In Which a Socially-Awkward Bronze Blood—”_

“Yeah, but they eventually _settle down_ into matesprits!” Karkat says. “And they vacillate back and forth, they’re either attracted to each other or conciliatory towards each other, they’re not— they’re not _both at once—”_

“Come on, dude, why is that a problem? Like, why is it _actually_ a problem that I wanna kiss you and _also_ talk to you?”

Karkat fucking _snarls._ “No,” he growls. “No, Dave, you are _not_ going fucking Cordys on me.”

Cordys. The villain from that one movie, the moirail who decides that if she can’t have the protagonist in every quadrant, _no_ one can, and tries to murder her matesprit.

“Dude, I’m not going to fucking kidnap your other romantic partners, or some shit like that,” you snap at him. “Like, if you and Terezi decided to, like be matesprits…”

Except as soon as you say it, you picture Karkat kissing Terezi, holding her hand and giggling with her, and a flash of anger fills your chest. The jealousy twists your insides at the _thought_ of Terezi stealing Karkat from you. Karkat is _yours._

Oh fuck. You really _are_ the possessive jerk in the romcom.

Fuck. Fucking hell.

“Don’t drag _Terezi_ into this,” Karkat snarls, unaware of your internal freakout. “This isn’t about her.”

“I’m not _dragging her into it_ , it was just a fucking example,” you snap. “Look, I can play ball, Karkat, I can hold it in, we can just— I dunno, we can pick one, we can just do moirails—”

It’ll be fine, you can just be moirails, there isn’t anyone else on this meteor who's actually interested in him in a concupiscent quadrant. Except maybe Terezi, but she’s not, actually interested anymore, you don’t think, and you could probably get Vriska to interfere if she _did_ get interested…

Oh. Fuck, you’re really planning on fucking up his other quadrants, just like a shitty villainous moirail.

Fuck.

Karkat raises a single eyebrow. “Moirail is what you really want?” he says, acidly. “Just thought I should _double check_ , seeing as how you’ve apparently got the most _fickle_ pump biscuit in the goddamn universe.”

You snarl, pissed off at his tone, but also feeling defensive because… you’re in the wrong here. You _are_ the possessive asshole. It is you.

“Shut the _fuck_ up, dude, I’m fucking serious, I’m trying here!” you say, clenching your hands into fists. “It’s not _my_ fucking fault you trolls have your stupid bullshit groupings and my feelings don’t fucking perfectly match onto them!”

“They’re not _stupid_ ,” Karkat hisses, getting up in your face. “They exist for a fucking _reason_ , in a society as violent as ours you need moirails to keep things from exploding into pure and utter fucking _carnage_ , and somebody can’t be fucking _rational_ and _objective_ if they’re also constantly thinking about getting in their moirail's _pants!_ ”

You throw your hands up in the air. “Okay, great! You know what?” You’re practically screaming now. “Turns out this fucking meteor _isn’t_ full of a bunch of stark raving serial murderers who are going to kill everybody on board! Turns out this is a _completely different_ fucking situation than Alternia! Also I’m calling _bullshit_ on that. It’s bullshit here and it was bullshit on Alternia, feelings can’t be fucking divided into your perfect little foursquare boxes!”

“Yes they fucking _can,_ Dave, that’s how romance _works!_ ” Karkat screams.

“Well it’s _not_ for me! It’s not for _humans_ in general!” you shout back at him.

“Then _maybe,_ ” Karkat spits, his voice saturated with malice, “You should find some fucking _human_ to fall in love with.”

You stand up. “Okay,” you say, speaking almost breezily. “Yeah, you know what, _fine_ , I’ll just nurse that crush I’ve had on John for like, five years. I don’t fucking need you.”

You grab your laptop and stomp off, vaguely wishing there was a door to slam on your way out.

As soon as you've made it back to the safety of your bedroom, the reality of the situation hits you. You sink down slowly onto your bed, feeling your heart drop to the bottom of your stomach.

Well. Good job, Strider. You really fucked it all up this time. You ruined the one good thing you had on this meteor.

Karkat’s going to hate you forever, now.


	20. Cardinal Sin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kanaya helps open up a dialogue between Dave and Karkat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> god SO MANY PESTERLOGS.
> 
> fun fact: in my time zone, as i am posting this, it is the one-year anniversary of the day I first posted "a brother's love" to ao3. happy anniversary y'all, i don't *think* this fic is gonna take another year.
> 
> Warnings: Self-Hatred, references to blood/disturbing imagery.
> 
> also thank you all SO MUCH for all the comments I literally have too many to reply to you all and that's never happened to me before. thank you to everyone who wrote a comment, they're very motivating!

You don’t speak to Karkat at all for weeks.

It’s fucking _maddening._

If you thought the month you spent debating about becoming his moirail was boring as all hell, this is like. The ninth fucking layer of nothing to do. You’re driving yourself out of your _fucking_ mind and you miss him like anything.

You want to talk to him. You want to _explain_ , to figure it out, to fucking _negotiate_ this shit, but every time you enter a room with him in it, he leaves immediately. And when you happen to be in a room he’s about to enter, he immediately does an about-face and finds somewhere else to be.

Even when you call out, beg him to just _wait_ , _please, Karkat—_ he leaves before you can say much more than that.

You haven’t even been able to get close enough to tell if he still smells like you, or if your mark has faded.

Everyone has noticed that something is up between you. Kanaya gives you sad, sympathetic looks, and Rose has gone out of her way to snuggle with you a bit more often. Terezi finds time to hang out with you, as a distraction, and even Vriska tries to offer what might seem like sympathy to her.

“Hey, if you need me to fucking _deal_ with Karkat, just say the word,” she tells you one day out of the blue. She rolls those dice in her hand in a way that looks vaguely menacing. “I’ll make sure he gets the message.”

“Uh, no,” you say, but it’s kind of nice that at least not _everyone_ thinks you’re the guy in the wrong here.

At first, you figure he’s just avoiding _you_ , because the situation with him _is_ pretty fraught. You give him his space, because you feel like you fucked up massively.Sure, your feelings don’t fit into his pretty little boxes, and yeah, it fucking hurt when he _abandoned_ you but… also, who ever said that _your_ emotional problems mattered more than his?

You keep thinking about Brokeback Mountain, and gay-bashing, and the fact that Alternia is about a hundred times more violent than Earth.

You think you might know why Karkat gets so upset about those characters in movies like that.

You kinda _hope_ you know why, because it means you might have a chance to fix this. To make it right again.

At the end of week three, as you’re pouring yourself a cup of sludge-coffee because you had a shitty, restless night and you need the caffeine, Kanaya walks into the kitchen, looking distressed.

“Hey, Kan,” you say, swirling the “coffee” around in the cup and watching the chunky bits stick to the sides, wondering if it’s really worth it. “Something up?”

Kanaya’s worried look lessens slightly, but does not disappear. “Oh, Dave,” she says, “Good, I was looking for you. Have you seen Karkat recently?”

You raise your eyebrows. “Uh, no?” you say. “I thought pretty much everyone on the meteor knew we’re in the ‘off’ phase of our on-and-off relationship.” The line comes out a little bit more bitter than you intended.

Her face falls. “I knew that,” she mutters. “I had still hoped…” She trails off, looking pensively into the distance.

A spark of worry ignites in your own chest. “Why?” you say. “What’s up with Karkat?”

Kanaya bites her lip hard enough that a little drop of green blood appears. “I— I haven’t— _nobody’s_ seen him at all in almost a week, and he’s not answering his Trollian messages.”

Your heart does a little swoop, dropping down into your stomach. “Hang on, _what?”_ you say. “Karkat _always_ answers his messages.”

Kanaya nods, her brow furling deeper. “I know.”

“ _Fuck,”_ you say, dropping down to sit at the kitchen table. You clench and unclench your fingers in your hair, staring down at the wooden table top until the grain goes out of focus. “Fuck, this is _my_ fault, I shouldn’t have... Fuck fuck fuck, what if something happened to him? What if he’s hurt?”

You can imagine it, suddenly, with almost perfect clarity of detail, Karkat’s gray skin covered in red red blood, pouring out of his lips and across his shirt. You picture his brilliant yellow eyes, turned dull and unseeing.

The thought almost makes you gag, and you muffle a whimper into your hands.

Kanaya sits down next to you. She hesitates for a moment, then places a gentle hand on your shoulder. “He’s— he’s probably fine,” she says.

You laugh weakly. “Like you’re not just as fucking worried.”

The two of you sit in silence, you staring down into your hands and not knowing what to _do_.

"Do you think..." you say, finally. "Do you think he'd listen, if I went to his room and tried to talk to him?"

Kanaya gives you a long slow look, and then nods. “I’ll come with you," she says, gathering her skirt in one hand and rising elegantly. “I’m sure we’ll be able to get through to him if we work together.”

You head quickly to Karkat’s block, and you don’t hesitate to pound on the door. “Karkat!” you yell through the thick material. “Karkat get your ass out here.”

Kanaya snickers, though her eyes still look a bit sad. “Yes, I’m certain shouting at him will galvanize him.”

You shrug. “Hey, it’s worked for me before,” you say. “Come on, Karkat, at least show us you’re all right, send us a Pesterchum message or _something._ ”

There’s still no response.

“Karkat,” Kanaya says, softly. “Please. We’re worried about you.”

When there’s still no reply, you proceed to bang on the door, shouting loudly and swearing at him to get the fuck up. It’s not very effective, and at some point you run a bit out of breath, panting slightly.

That’s when something in the vicinity of Kanaya lets out a high-pitched chime. Her eyes widen, and she reaches into a pocket and pulls out her phone. You hesitate for a second as she scrolls down, not wanting to intrude, but then she motions you over.

CG: KANAYA, FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THAT IS HOLY, WOULD YOU *PLEASE* DRAG THIS FESTERING BAG OF SANCTIMONIOUS *FILTH* AWAY FROM MY DOOR.  
CG: SOME OF US LIKE A LITTLE BIT OF FUCKING PEACE AND QUIET, A SITUATION THE METEOR’S RESIDENT RED-CAPED ASSHOLE APPARENTLY CAN’T COMPREHEND.  
GA: Karkat It Is Very Good To Hear From You  
GA: You Have Been Absent For Quite Some Time And It Was Beginning To Alarm Us  
CG: I’M FUCKING FINE, I’VE JUST BEEN MINDING MY OWN FUCKING BUSINESS.  
CG: I DON’T NEED TO GO AROUND LIKE SOME SLURRY GUZZLING NOOKSNIFFER GETTING ALL UP IN OTHER PEOPLE’S BUSINESS.

You whip out your own phone and open up Pesterchum.

TG: dude seriously  
TG: you cant just hide away in your room for weeks and expect us not to notice  
TG: have you even been eating dude  
TG: what about going to the bathroom  
TG: please tell me you havent been just pissing in a bottle  
TG: shitting in a trash can  
TG: dude i know youre awake right now i can see you texting kanaya  
TG: also your status registers as online  
TG: are you really fucking serious

You grumble quietly under your breath, frustrated. Wordlessly, Kanaya taps you on the shoulder, showing you her phone so you can read the rest of the conversation.

CG: GREAT NOW HE’S MESSAGING ME.  
CG: THIS ASSHOLE SERIOUSLY CAN’T UNDERSTAND THAT HE ISN’T FUCKING *WANTED.*  
CG: HEY KANAYA, CAN YOU DO ME A FAVOR AND LET THAT SHADES-WEARING DOUCHEBAG KNOW THAT HE CAN FUCK RIGHT OFF?  
GA: You Know You Could Simply Tell Him Yourself  
GA: I Do Not Wish To Be The Middleman Between You  
CG: KANAYA, PLEASE JUST GET HIM OFF MY ASS.  
CG: I DON’T WANT TO HAVE TO DEAL WITH HIS SMARMY FACE.  
CG: JUST SHOW HIM YOUR PHONE OR SOMETHING, I DON’T CARE.  
CG: BUT I JUST KNOW IF I MESSAGE HIM RIGHT NOW I’LL GET TOO FUCKING FAR INTO IT.  
CG: FOR ONCE I AM PRACTICING SOME FUCKING RESTRAINT, KANAYA, AREN’T YOU FUCKING PROUD OF ME?  
GA: Well I Would Be But I Do Not Believe This Is Healthy Behavior  
GA: Failure To Adequately Communicate Regarding Romantic Endeavors Is Not A Sound Coping Mechanism  
CG: KANAYA. PLEASE.  
GA: Fine I Will Show Him Your Messages But Do Not Expect Anything Else  
GA: I Am Not Getting Roped Into Being Your Auspistice  
CG: A;SDFJASDLFKHLADSJFKAH  
CG: NO SHUT UP THAT’S NOT WHAT THIS IS.  
GA: Is It Not?  
CG: JUST SHOW HIM YOUR PHONE AND FUCK OFF, JEGUS.

You find you can't look at Kanaya, too embarrassed about the idea that you might have been gray-flirting with her this whole time. "Hey, uh," you say. "Thanks."

Then, after a brief moment, you say, "Can I borrow this?"

Kanaya smiles softly and hands you her phone.

GA: come on karkat seriously  
GA: kanaya doesnt deserve this shit  
GA: just fucking talk to me on my actual account  
CG: ADSLF; STRIDER FUCK OFF.  
CG: GIVE THE PHONE BACK RIGHT FUCKING NOW.  
CG: I WANT TO TALK TO MY BEST FUCKING FRIEND.  
CG: NOT A RAP-SPOUTING MUMBLING BULGEWAD WHO LITERALLY LIVES TO IRRITATE ME  
GA: no  
GA: not unless you agree to actually talk to me on my own account dude  
CG: FUCKING  
CG: FINE, YOU KNOW WHAT, FUCKING FINE.

Your own phone buzzes.

CG: OKAY I FUCKING MESSAGED YOU BACK.  
CG: NOW FUCK OFF, ASSWIPE.  
TG: karkat why you gotta be like this  
TG: seriously man i just want to talk  
TG: make sure youre okay  
TG: kanaya says nobodys seen you in weeks and that worries me  
TG: youre still pack you know  
TG: even if youre mad at me

Kanaya’s phone chimes. You wait patiently as she taps away at it for a little while, but she doesn’t beckon you over to look, so you don’t pry, despite how desperately you want to see.

It’s a surprisingly long conversation the two of them have, and it makes you antsy. You start plucking at your sleeves, and, of course, you can’t resist babbling in the chat window.

TG: look i know i havent always been the greatest guy to hang out with  
TG: but i wanna help you know  
TG: youre like  
TG: a really cool guy and one of my best friends  
TG: and im frustrated as hell that you dont wanna talk to me  
TG: like  
TG: i can live without it i guess but i really dont want to  
CG: WOW, CAN YOU STOP TALKING FOR TWO WHOLE SECONDS?  
TG yeah of course i can  
TG: not talking is easy  
CG: FUCKING PROVE IT.

You pause, staring down at your phone, and a little smile quirks the corners of your mouth. It would be so, _so_ easy to irritate him, to take the bait— but you also want him to actually talk to you. So you wait, as hard as it is. You genuinely fucking wait.

Well, you wait when it comes to chatting with Karkat.

TG: kanayaaaaaa  
TG: what are you guys talking about  
TG: is it me  
TG: please tell me youre talking about me  
TG: and let it be good things  
TG: like how cool i am  
GA: Yes Dave Of Course We Are Talking About You  
GA: You Are The Salient Point In This Whole Debacle In The First Place  
TG: yesss okay what are you saying  
TG: is it about how cool i am  
GA: Dave Not Now I Am Trying To Talk To Karkat  
TG: awww but im bored  
TG: kanaya  
TG: kanaaaaaaaya  
TG: sigh

Ugh. This is the worst.

Then, finally, your phone chimes again.

CG: OKAY, YOU FESTERING BILGESACK, KANAYA THINKS I SHOULD TALK TO YOU.  
CG: I THINK THIS IS A SHITTY IDEA THAT’S ONLY GOING TO MAKE THINGS WORSE, BUT I RESPECT HER AS A FRIEND, SO I’M GOING ALONG WITH IT FOR NOW.  
CG: MAKE YOUR CASE, STRIDER.  
TG: shit i wasnt expecting court roleplay  
TG: pretty sure its illegal to roleplay court shit without terezi  
TG: do you have any idea how pissed shed be  
TG: shed murder us in our sleep  
CG: REGARDLESS OF TEREZI’S INTENT TO MURDER US IN OUR SLEEP, YOU STILL OWE ME A FUCKING EXPLANATION, STRIDER.  
TG: … for what exactly  
CG: WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU MEAN, “FOR WHAT?”  
TG: i mean dude if you want me to explain why i care about you i can do that  
TG: but somehow i dont think thats the explanation you were demanding  
TG: if anything i think youre the one who needs to give me an explanation  
TG: why the fuck did you start hiding away in your room  
TG: what arent you telling me karkat  
CG: WHAT DO YOU MEAN WHAT AM I NOT TELLING YOU?  
CG: THERE’S A MILLION FUCKING THINGS I’M NOT TELLING YOU.  
CG: YOU’VE PROVEN MULTIPLE TIMES THAT YOU DON’T GIVE A RAT’S ASS ABOUT MY SHIT.  
CG: WHY SHOULD I TELL YOU ANYTHING.  
TG: aw come on babe dont be like that  
CG: DON’T CALL ME BABE.  
TG: look seriously karkat  
TG: avoiding me i get  
TG: why the fuck have you been avoiding everyone else  
TG: what horrible offensive thing did everybody else do  
TG: what cardinal sin did the rest of the meteor commit to make you fucking lock yourself away like this  
CG: …  
CG: IT WASN’T THEM.  
CG: IT WAS ME.  
TG: okay fine then  
TG: what horrible offensive cardinal sin did YOU do

There’s a moment where you think Karkat isn’t going to reply to you at all. The silence drags on.

TG: karkat dont leave me hanging here  
TG: you implied juicy deets  
TG: are you denying me my juicy deets karkat  
TG: this is a fucking crime  
TG: oh i get it this is what you did isnt it  
TG: denied the juicy deets from everybody else  
TG: i have to agree that this is possibly the worst crime ever  
TG: definitely deserving of capital punishment  
TG: i applaud you for locking yourself away and getting a head start on starvation  
TG: saves us all the trouble  
CG: OH MY FUCKING GOD, CAN YOU *SHUT UP* FOR A FUCKING MINUTE WHILE A GUY GETS HIS THOUGHTS IN ORDER?  
CG: ARE YOU COMPLETELY INCABAPLE OF ALLOWING A DRAMATIC PAUSE TO RUN ITS COURSE BEFORE SPEWING ABSOLUTELY SHIT FUCKING NONSENSE FROM YOUR BLOATED, EXCRETORY WINDHOLE?  
TG: yeah sorry dude diarrhea of the mouth is a chronic disease  
TG: you fucking know this about me  
CG: YEAH, I GUESS I DO.  
CG: CAN WE AT LEAST NOT TALK ABOUT EXECUTING ME?  
CG: NOT WHEN  
CG: NOT WHEN WE’RE TALKING ABOUT THIS?  
CG: MAYBE?

You think of candy red blood, and sickles poised to slash, and the way that possessive villainous characters always die at the end of the story.

TG: yeah sorry  
TG: ill lay off the death imagery  
TG: that wasnt fucking cool  
TG: stupid thing to say anyway  
CG: THANKS.

There’s another long fucking pause, and you hold yourself back for as long as you possibly can before you can’t take it anymore.

TG: oh my god dude if the objective is to torture me with silence mission fucking accomplished  
TG: will you please just talk to me  
CG: I’M NOT—  
CG: I’M NOT A VERY GOOD TROLL, DAVE.

You suck in a sharp breath and bite your lip. You don't know when Kanaya left, but she's not hanging around anymore, which means there’s no one here to see the way you clench your phone and stare intently down at the screen.

TG: what are you talking about  
TG: youre a fantastic troll  
CG: NO, I’M NOT.  
CG: I’M NOT AS BLOODTHIRSTY AS I PRETEND TO BE. I HATE THE THOUGHT OF HURTING PEOPLE.  
CG: EVERY OTHER TROLL OUR GROUP KILLED SOMEBODY IN SOME TIMELINE OR ANOTHER, DID YOU KNOW THAT?  
CG: OR AT LEAST *TRIED* TO KILL SOMEONE.  
CG: EXCEPT ME.  
CG: BECAUSE I’M WEAK.  
TG: dude not killing people isn’t weak  
CG: KILLING IS NORMAL FOR TROLLS, DAVE.  
CG: IT ALWAYS HAS BEEN.  
CG: BUT I HAVE ALL THESE STUPID HANG-UPS ABOUT IT.  
CG: I FUCKING FAINT AT THE SIGHT OF BLOOD.  
TG: seriously thats not actually an issue  
TG: you care about people and theres nothing fucking wrong with that  
TG: we all like that you care about people okay  
CG: SURE OKAY, FINE.  
CG: I CAN MAYBE CONCEDE THAT OTHER PEOPLE LIKE THAT I DON’T WANT TO KILL THEM.  
CG: BUT I’M STILL A BAD TROLL.  
CG: AND THAT’S NOT THE ONLY REASON.  
CG: THERE’S MY BLOOD.  
TG: you literally cant fucking help your blood  
TG: you were born with that shit  
CG: EXCEPT I’M THE ONE WHO PERFORMED THE ECTOBIOLOGY TO CREATE US ALL.  
CG: I KEEP WONDERING.  
CG: IF I HADN’T BEEN SUCH A SCREW-UP, WOULD I MAYBE HAVE HAD A NORMAL BLOOD COLOR?  
CG: IF I HAD ONLY DONE EVERYTHING RIGHT, WOULD BOTH OUR GAMES HAVE BEEN ACTUALLY *WINNABLE?*  
TG: okay first of all youre not a screw up  
TG: youre awesome  
TG: second of all im the time guy  
TG: i know some shit about alternate timelines and paradoxes and shit  
TG: and let me tell you that if you had done that shit quote unquote “right”  
TG: you wouldnt have been you  
TG: like  
TG: karkat vantas would not be karkat vantas if he didnt have red blood ya dig  
CG: I DISAGREE, BUT WHATEVER.  
CG: THE MORE IMPORTANT THING IS, DAVE.  
CG: THAT THESE TWO THINGS ARE TWO PIECES OF EVIDENCE THAT MAYBE I COULD IGNORE.  
CG: MAYBE I COULD PRETEND THAT I COULD CONVINCE EVERYONE MY BLOOD DIDN’T MATTER, OR THAT I WOULD LEARN TO BE RUTHLESS AND AGGRESSIVE AND BLOODTHIRSTY OVER TIME.  
CG: BUT THERE’S A THIRD REASON I’M A BAD TROLL.  
CG: AND IT’S BECAUSE I CAN’T KEEP MY FUCKING QUADRANTS STRAIGHT.

You sigh quietly and sink down to the floor, resting your back against his bedroom door. If you listen close, you can hear the sound of him moving, breathing harshly, on the other side of the barrier, and the repeated chimes of your own messages getting through to him.

CG: I’M FUCKING AWFUL, DAVE.  
CG: I SPENT HALF THE TIME I WAS RED-ROMANCING TEREZI FUCKING *BLACKFLIRTING* WITH HER.  
CG: AND YEAH I TRIED TO PASS IT OFF AS JUST, LIKE, A JOKE OR WHATEVER.  
CG: BUT I THINK I *ACTUALLY* HATED HER LIKE THAT.  
CG: WHILE, *AT THE SAME FUCKING TIME,* PITYING HER AND CRUSHING ON HER AS MY MATESPRIT.  
CG: AND THAT’S JUST *SO* FUCKED UP, DAVE.  
CG: YOU *KNOW* HOW FUCKED UP IT WAS.  
CG: AND THEN I GO AND ACT JUST KINDA A LITTLE BIT PALE FOR LITERALLY *EVERYONE* ON OUR TEAM.  
CG: EVEN FUCKING ERIDAN!  
CG: WHO WAS A RAGING GENOCIDAL DOUCHELORD WHO DIDN’T FUCKING LISTEN TO ANYONE!  
CG: BUT I KEPT GIVING HIM ADVICE!  
CG: AND APPARENTLY HE HAD A PALE CRUSH ON ME TOO, AND HONESTLY, I KIND OF FEEL LIKE I DODGED A FUCKING BULLET ON THAT ONE.  
CG: WHILE ALSO MISSING HIM LIKE HELL.  
CG: AND THEN THERE’S YOU.  
CG: AND IT’S AWFUL, IT’S SO BAD WITH YOU!  
CG: BECAUSE SOMETIMES YOU MAKE ME ABSOLUTELY FUCKING FURIOUS! AND I *KNOW* YOU’RE DOING IT ON PURPOSE TO MAKE ME ANGRY!  
CG: THAT’S *LITERALLY* THE DEFINITION OF BLACKFLIRTING, AND THE FACT THAT YOU DO IT EVEN WHEN YOU *KNOW* THAT JUST MAKES ME EVEN ANGRIER!  
CG: BUT YOU’RE ALSO, LIKE. THE SADDEST FUCKER I HAVE EVER MET, AND I WANT TO KEEP YOU SAFE FROM ALL THE SHIT THAT LIFE KEEPS PUTTING YOU THROUGH.  
CG: IT’S STUPID HOW MUCH I WANT TO KILL THE BASTARD THAT RAISED YOU.  
CG: IT’S STUPID HOW MUCH I WANT TO HUG YOU AND TAKE CARE OF YOU AND HOLD YOU WHILE YOU FALL ASLEEP.  
CG: AND THEN ALSO YOU’RE SO GOOD AT BEING THERE FOR ME.  
CG: AND I CAN TELL THAT *YOU* CARE, TOO.  
CG: *EVEN* WHEN YOU’RE BEING ANNOYING ON PURPOSE!  
CG: AND ALSO YOU’RE REALLY FUCKING ATTRACTIVE.  
CG: WHICH IS ABSOLUTELY FUCKING UNFAIR.  
CG: FUCK.  
TG: dude

You think you can hear something that sounds like crying from the other side of the door, the stuttering hitch of his breath.

CG: IT’S WRONG, DAVE.  
CG: IT’S ALL FUCKING WRONG.  
CG: ONE PERSON CAN’T HANDLE ALL THAT EMOTION, THAT’S NOT HOW WE’RE BUILT.  
CG: THAT’S NOT HOW IT’S SUPPOSED TO WORK.  
TG: fuck supposed to  
CG: I’M THE UNIVERSE’S ABSOLUTE WORST EXAMPLE OF A TROLL.  
CG: I’M A COMPLETELY SHITTY TROLL, AND THE PEOPLE WHO WANTED TO KILL ME WERE RIGHT.

That makes you suck in another breath. You stand quickly, almost scrambling upright.

TG: dude  
TG: karkat  
TG: open the door  
TG: …  
TG: please

And then he does.

Karkat stands in the doorway, his face blotchy and mottled from crying, pink-tinged tears streaming slowly down his cheeks. He chokes on ragged sobs, and he stares up at you with complete and utter anguish on his face.

You don’t hesitate, wrapping him up in a hug and scent-marking the top of his head with your cheek.

“You _always_ deserved to live, Karkat,” you say. “You’re a good fucking person, and everyone who wanted to kill you was just plain fucking _wrong_ , all right? You deserve good things, and you _are_ a good troll, and it doesn’t _matter_ how your romance feelings work.”

He buries his face in your shoulder and cries, clutching the fabric of your shirt in his little claws. It’s a broken little sound that makes your heart shatter, and you squeeze him even more tightly even as he hiccups.

“B-But it’s _not,”_ he says. “It’s not— It’s _not_ okay to put all of th-that on someone! Nobody can handle that much emotion! They _can’t!_ And it’s too fucking possessive to, to want to have someone all to yourself, that’s _gross_ and _wrong_ —”

“Hey, man,” you say, cutting him off and cupping his head with one hand. “Most humans _I_ know would have been pretty upset if their spouse was getting together with someone else romantically, you know? And… like, human couples _tell_ each other shit. They help each other out with the hard stuff they’re dealing with.”

“It’s too _much_ , Dave, I—”

“Fucking try me,” you say. “It’s too much? Fuck that, I can handle it, Karkat. Maybe some random troll weakling wouldn’t be able to do it, but I’m Dave goddamn Strider and I can take _anything_ you throw at me, hate and pity and love all at once.”

He shakes his head. “It’s not _fair_ to you,” he says. “You— you deserve to have more than one fucked up, ugly bastard of a troll like me.”

“Okay, I still do not know where you get ‘ugly’ from,” you tell him truthfully, pulling his chin up so you can look him in the eyes. A few pink tears still trail down his cheeks, and you rub them away with your thumb. “You’re fucking gorgeous, Karkat.”

Karkat shakes his head again, but smiles, and ends up leaning into your hand. “You’re crazy,” he says. “But thanks.”

You stand there for a little bit in comfortable silence, cupping his face with one hand, the other arm encircling his waist, and you missed this. You missed getting to hold him and touch him like this. You want to keep doing this forever, and you once more tuck his face into your shoulder and stroke his hair.

“Hey, Karkat?” you finally murmur. “Would people really have wanted to kill you for this? For being— I dunno, multi-quadrant or whatever?”

You both hear his swallow and feel the motion of his throat against your skin. “Yeah,” he says, quietly. “Even if I somehow managed to find somebody else out there who could stand my stupid emotional obsession, if I wasn’t able to provide both kismetic and matesprite genetic material to the drones, I’d be fucking dead.”

Then he lets out a weak little chuckle. “Then again, the drones would take one fucking look at my genetic material and kill me dead even if I _did_ have two separate buckets, so I’d be fucked either way.”

You hum, quietly, drawing him even closer to your body. You can feel his shaking and you just absorb it, trying to be the strong, steady rock he needs. He clings to you, and you kind of want to cry yourself, because the thought of Karkat dead, of _never meeting Karkat at all_ , is absolutely awful.

“On Earth,” you finally whisper, “If people knew I was in a relationship with a Beta boy? Given the place I grew up and the people I grew up around, I could have been killed, too. Or at the least, I’d know I was risking it all the goddamn time.”

Karkat’s breath hitches and you soothe him, making comforting noises and rubbing his back. “Shh, it’s okay, I’m not dead, I’m right here,” you say. “And you’re not dead, either, and we have each other now. And that’s— that’s kind of my point. You’re— you would have been killed for this, and you think it’s wrong. And I would have been killed for the gay shit, and I used to think it was wrong.”

You draw away from him just enough to take both of his hands in your own, because it feels right, it feels _serious_ to do that. You rub your fingers over the spot where his wrist glands would be, if he had them.

“But I was wrong about the gay stuff, and you showed me that, because you don’t give a flying fuck about the gender of the folks I like,” you say. “So maybe it’s the same with this stuff. Maybe this is my chance to show you that I don’t give a crap about which of the stupid little boxes we’re going to fit in, cuz I love you, dude, and there ain’t no quadrant for love.”

Karkat rubs your own hands with his thumbs, staring down at them in both fascination and fear. “I just—” he says. “Do you really think we can? Do you really think this will work?”

You smile. “Yeah,” you say. “Yeah, I really do.”

He looks up at you then, meeting your eyes with a wobbly smile. “I’m going to kiss you, now,” he declares.

“Not if I kiss you first,” you say, and swoop down to press your lips to his, cupping your hands around his cheeks.

You think— maybe— that this is going to work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> another fun fact: i ended up cutting a chapter of pure angst in between chapters 19 and 20 because i couldn't STAND to have them stay mad at each other for one minute longer. but if y'all wanna read karkat and dave shouting at each other, i might post it in my side fics and companion pieces.
> 
> also i really wanna write those three weeks from karkat's pov but we'll see what happens.


End file.
